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by JBarts (the_physicist)



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Depression, Drug Use, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Romance, Space Pirates, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 41
Words: 125,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_physicist/pseuds/JBarts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is heading towards a personal crisis. Their mission is vitally important: to find a new home world for the Vulcan race in the face of alien opposition. Soon it is clear that there is only one planet that will do. To secure the mysterious planet Jim must play his hand perfectly, but guilt at not having been able to save Vulcan and the responsibilities of captaining the Enterprise are wearing him down. Determined to be professional, he forces loneliness upon himself until a kiss he shares with his first officer changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger warnings:** bondage, torture, prostitution, explicit sex, drug use, attempted rape  
>  **Themes and Tropes, etc.:** action/adventure; angst; grief; romance; pirates  
>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek or any of its characters, Paramount does, and didn't create them either, Roddenberry did. **  
> Betas:** [](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/profile)[**Fragrantwoods**](http://fragrantwoods.livejournal.com/) , [](http://lissaea.livejournal.com/profile)[**Lissaea**](http://lissaea.livejournal.com/) & [](http://tkeylasunset.livejournal.com/profile)[**T’key’la Sunset**](http://tkeylasunset.livejournal.com/)

Jim’s breath left his lungs the minute his tongue came into contact with the blue liquid. He gripped Bones’ sickbay desk to steady himself.

“What… is… this?”

Bones frowned. “Oh please, Jim, you’re not feeling weak, are you?”

“No, no, I’m… I’m ok.”

“Good! That’s what I like to hear. As to what it is, well, it was a gift from the Coridanite ambassador.”

Jim let go of the desk, straightened up, shook himself and rested his back against the office wall. When light streamed through the liquid in his glass, its color reminded him of the summer sky. At the same time, it reminded him of vile drinks in sleazy bars. He shoved those memories away.

Bones leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “I’ve had worse; I’ve also had much better. This stuff is cough syrup. I think I'll keep it here in sickbay, if you don't mind… purely for medicinal purposes.”

“I feel tipsy already,” he replied, “Is this normal?”

“You lightweight. Can’t have that. I prescribe you spend more time drinking with your chief medical officer. In preparation for diplomatic functions.”

“Huh?”

“I mean it. What with every alien race we encounter bragging that a human will hit the floor the minute they just lay eyes on a glass of their local poison, we’re going to have to toughen you up. Remember our last meeting with the Klingons? Their blood wine nearly killed you.”

Jim raised his drink for a toast. "Here's to me continuing to defy Spock’s carefully calculated odds against my survival.”

Bones rolled his eyes. “Only thanks to my surgical skills.”

“Thanks for this.” Jim smiled. “I know I should’ve been relaxing. We’re between missions. But somehow I … it just feels wrong not to be rushing around, dodging phaser fire, or having to coax Scotty into performing miracles down in engineering.”

“You fully deserve this break. We all do.” Bones poured himself another glass of the blue poison. “We haven’t really had time to put our feet up in ages, not since some crazy people put you in charge of this ship. Wow, it’s been a whole half a year already, hasn’t it?”

He stared off into the distance and Jim knew where Bones’ mind had gone, for he couldn’t hold back his own memories of the genocide that had led to him being in charge of the _Enterprise_. The blue stuff burnt Jim’s throat as he finished the remainder of his drink.

“Well,” Bones said, “I don’t know about you, but I feel a lot better now.”

Jim didn’t. There was a hiss as the office door opened, which took him by surprise; he hadn’t heard anyone enter sickbay. Spock walked up to him, a PADD tucked under one arm—no doubt the report Jim had been waiting for.

Spock raised one eyebrow slowly, with precision. “I believe you may not want to mention this particular gift in any of your official reports.”

Jim frowned. “Why not?”

Spock took the glass from him and sniffed at it before taking a sip. “As I thought.”

Jim watched Bones put his glass down; they both turned their eyes on Spock.

“This substance is illegal.”

***

High above the Coridanites' planet the _Enterprise_ soared through the night sky, towards the dawn. The star system’s bright, young star was surging above the horizon. That same star glittered small in the diamond sky above Paris, where the nightshift had only just started for one news editor.

Stone-faced Vulcans, thousands of them, moved through the streets of San Francisco like ghosts. At a flick of Maxime’s wrist the video on his screen was replaced with a series of still images: close-ups of pale children, their jet black hair tucked neatly behind small pointed ears. It wasn’t cold in the room, but the images made the hairs on Maxime’s arms stand on end. His eyes lingered on the image of a small Vulcan boy in particular—Maxime’s children, Pierre and Marc, were about the same age. How many of these Vulcan kids were orphans? Would Pierre and Marc have been just as stoic if Earth had been destroyed, leaving them on Mars without a father?

He waved his hand at the data terminal, sending the images on his screen spinning. Ned walked up behind him, bringing with him the smell of strong coffee.

“Thanks, Ned,” Maxime said, “That’s just what I needed.”

The mug was very hot, and after taking a sip he put it down. His fingers traced slowly over the script on it: UE News 24.

“Anything interesting?” Ned, a fellow deputy editor, asked.

“Not really, just the usual.”

Maxime turned around in his seat. “It isn’t even that I want a promotion or to be moved to an extra-solar planet. Not that I’d turn down an offer from the Centauri Network, of course.” He laughed and took another sip of coffee. “No, all I’m asking for is… a bit of life around here, you know?”

“Yeah, I get you,” Ned said.

Maxime’s terminal was buzzing with the pulse of electricity. Flashing lights and the occasional ‘ping’ vied for both his and Ned’s attention: incoming messages, memos, reports, voice recordings, holos.

“Take a look at that holo-flick.” Ned pointed at one of the files. “Might help us for our special report on the Vulcan survivors.”

Adjacent to Maxime’s screen a holo-vid projector sprang to life, filling the air above with hard light. The vid showed a drab street lined with pre-fab houses before zooming out at a dizzying speed. As Maxime looked on, the street shrank before his eyes, while new streets, exact replicas, were added to the map until an entire grid filled the projection space.

Ned shook his head, turned and sat back down at his own desk. They both worked on as outside the sun crept over the horizon, flooding their office with light the color of thick honey.

Ned made fresh coffee. Together they drank in silence, sat in front of Maxime’s terminal. All the while Maxime’s eyes were dividing their time between tracking Ned’s face and following the relentless stream of information that flowed into the room.

“Did you see that?” Ned asked, but Maxime was already onto it, fingers darting towards the image. He grabbed hold of it on his monitor and pulled it onto the larger screen.

“Tell me, is that who I think it is?”

Ned whistled in appreciation. “Who sent you that?”

Maxime leaned forward in his chair and manipulated the open tabs.

“Guy over the pond in San Fran. Starfleet doesn’t take well to paparazzi on their grounds, so I’ll have to find out if he broke any laws taking this. I’ll make a few calls, but I think… what we’ve got here could be quite a story.”

***

Jim awoke with his head resting on a cool, hard surface while the grogginess of sleep cleared only slowly from his mind. Realization came to him when he opened his eyes; he was in his office, slumped over his desk where he had fallen asleep last night. A groan escaped him involuntarily when he forced himself into an upright position in his chair. As soon as he moved, the lights switched back on.

He quickly closed his eyes again. After a minute or so he massaged his neck, trying to ease the pain there. He had a headache, too. Now he understood why that blue stuff was illegal. Wait… Spock had only been able to identify it properly once he’d tasted it. Jim frowned. He’d always thought of Vulcans as the designated drivers of the galaxy, since Spock had always refused any drink offered to him. Hmm… interesting.

Slowly he opened his eyes. The feel of a bad hangover was all too familiar to Jim. Memories of all the other times he’d woken up like this came to him, causing him to feel both regret and anger. Back then, in his lost years, this had been the norm, hadn’t it? Before Pike had dragged him out of the gutter. The total quantity of alcohol he’d drunk in his lifetime was hardly worth regretting, though; not when compared to some of the other things he’d done back then.

Why couldn’t the ship run itself when he had a headache? There was no way he was going to ask Spock to step in for him, though. He’d just have to go to Bones and get a hypo to deal with the problem. Jim tapped his access code into the terminal to start his leisurely day’s work. Soon they’d get a new mission, but for now he would take Bones’ advice and enjoy the freedom this small respite could offer him.

***

The next day the captain’s period of rest was already over. Drama that Jim and his crew didn't need was causing his blood to boil as he stared glumly at the news channel podcast.

 _”Well, could anyone have made up such a bizarre love story? I don’t know about you, Inès, but I certainly don’t see the media interest in this affair dying down anytime soon.”_

 _“I agree, Thomas. Especially with new details emerging that suggest the two were lovers before serving on the_ Enterprise _together—cadet and Academy instructor! Needless to say, Starfleet is being very tight-lipped, but no doubt an investigation into the Commander’s conduct is already underway.”_

 _“I dare say you’re right on that one. And if we find out anything, we will of course share it with you, our viewers, first.”_

 _“Stay tuned for more exclusive coverage of this story, brought to you by UE News 24, live from Paris, the capital of the Federation. We’re where the news is when it breaks—.”_

Jim slammed his fist down on his desk. The screen flickered briefly, then the connection was lost. The smooth surface of his view screen reflected the harsh artificial light that illuminated the office area in his quarters. For a few seconds he studied it before forcing himself to look across his desk to where Spock and Uhura were seated.

“If I get my hands on whoever sent this ‘memo’ out to the press, I swear,” he said, “that person will not live long enough to regret their actions.”

“It matters little now,” Spock said.

Jim looked from Spock’s drawn face to Uhura’s. It was equally resigned.

“Jim, Spock is right. The damage is already done.”

Jim leaned forward in his chair.

Uhura sighed. “We’d already been given an off-the-record warning once. Neither of us have any energy to spare for the media now, because I have no doubt Starfleet is already launching an inquiry.”

“If you need any back up—whatsoever,” Jim said, his fists clenched in front of him on his desk, “I'm sure I speak for all of us here on the _Enterprise_ when I say that we are one hundred percent behind you both.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Hell, Spock, you really shouldn’t have to be dealing with some disciplinary hearing over your relationship.”

Spock and Uhura didn’t reply.

Jim stood and leaned over the table. “I can’t imagine anyone really wants this hearing to go ahead,” he said, “Don’t worry, you’ll only be given the minimum penalty, I’m sure of it.”

He was worried for the two of them, especially for Spock, who really didn’t need to deal with this kind of shit right now.

The couple in front of him weren’t holding hands. Okay, Spock was uptight—would this thorny, arctic man he knew ever mellow out and become the old Spock he’d met on Delta Vega? —but still, he had grown to know Spock over the past few months, so he could tell that the body language of both was somehow “off”. He couldn’t think of a better way to describe it to himself. How he hated bureaucrats!

“And just so you know,” Jim continued, “I don’t give a damn about what any inquiry has to say on the matter. I knew you two were together when you took up your appointments on the bridge. I have no issue with your relationship whatsoever. Not in the past, not now and not in the future.” He made sure to stress the last word.

They didn’t look at one another, just continued to sit there. Jim realized his face felt rather flushed and that he had been raising his voice. He straightened his shirt, and then sat down again.

“Thank you for your support,” Uhura said quietly, “We both really appreciate it.”

Spock nodded in agreement and Jim studied his face from across his desk. He was glad to still see some spark there even though it was not nearly as bright as it usually was.

They all got up and Jim led them to the door. It had been important to him that they hear the news from him – it was his duty to look after all his crew and he also knew that the gesture probably was appreciated. As Spock stepped out of his quarters, he turned his head and nodded briefly to Jim, conveying his thanks. For a heartbeat their eyes locked, their faces separated by less than an arm’s length.

In his brown eyes Spock possessed a depth, both alluring and terrifying at the same time, that made Jim feel as if he were standing on the precipice of a cliff; all he had to do was jump and his whole being would belong to Spock. He had to suppress a shudder.

When the doors closed he was left alone again. He flung himself into his seat, twisting in his chair so that he could look out of his window at the stationary stars, violent balls of impossibly hot gasses consuming their fuel, inexorably heading towards their doom and that of thousands of worlds. The news report had swept all calm thoughts from his mind, leaving behind a burning fury. All he wanted to do was shoot those news reporters straight into the heart of the Coridanite sun.

Jim was fond of Spock. While he wasn’t sure he deserved for Spock to hold him in as high esteem as he did—considering everything that had transpired between them the day they’d met—there was something to be said for facing certain death together while fighting a Romulan mass murderer. That had been the start of their bond and their new friendship.

His memories of that day rushed through his mind, and he instinctively put his hands over his eyes as if that were enough to stop them. Amid the torrent he found his mind focused on one line that Spock had said.

‘Jim, please tell Lieutenant Uhura—.’

When he had started that sentence, Spock had no doubt thought that it would be the last thing he’d ever say to another living being. He’d never know for sure how the sentence would have ended, but he had a pretty good idea.

***

A thin film of the blue liquid clung to the bottle’s walls—that was all that was left. The rest of the ale was sloshing around Spock’s stomach. He should probably call for a doctor to come to his quarters, but that would be the end of his career for sure; too drunk to be of any use in an emergency. He bent over in his chair, burying his head in his hands.

The inquest would not rule in their favor. How could it? He wanted to curse his human half for the lapse in logic that had allowed him to get involved with a student. And that had now gotten him into this sorry state. It was illogical to dwell on events that could not be undone and illogical to think a single bottle of ale would be sufficient to silence the mess of emotions inside him forever. No, he’d have to continue suppress them for as long as he lived.

The intoxicating ale tried to make its way back up his throat. Being stripped of his tight self-control was both relief and unbearably anguish all rolled up in one. His chest constricted, every beat of his heart squeezing out more of his will to live. What was the point in anything anymore?

He opened his damp eyes and stared down at the red floor. Vulcan. Red matter. Human blood.

When he shut them again the inside of his eyelids turned his vision into a dark green blur. The images that color brought up in his mind were no better than the previous ones.

Spock stumbled to bed and, fully clothed, he lay there for what he estimated to be two point eight… point five… point nine hours. Feeling oddly detached from his body, he noted how the ale’s active ingredient was slowly killing vital cells en masse. There was no point in living, but there was no point in risking death either, he decided eventually. So he heaved himself off the bed and toppled into the bathroom, where he dropped to his knees. That was agreeable. The emergency med kit was in the cupboard under the wash basin. He resolved never to look at the mess inside himself again so that there could be no repeat of this wretched night.


	2. Chapter 2

Bones came to see Jim that night. No doubt he’d seen the news.

“Jim,” he said in greeting, “house visit!”

“I’m ill?”

Bones looked at him sideways. “I know I’ve been going on about this for months, but you’re not getting enough rest, even now that we’re just hanging around waiting for new orders. Now I know we’ve been through this, but please, take these.”

He pressed a bottle of pills into Jim’s hand. “I know you don’t want to be drugged up when there might be a red alert in the middle of the night. You want to be able to wake up and be ready for action, but now… while we’re waiting… please? I think even a few days of good sleep would help you.”

He walked past Jim and sat down on his couch. Jim looked at the pills. “The last ones you gave me were red. These are bright green.”

“Different dosage, that’s all.”

“Ah, right.”

He sat down on his couch next to Bones. “You’ve seen the news, I take it?”

"I just can't believe that green hobgoblin,” Bones said in reply. “His private affairs have just been broadcast to the quadrant and he doesn't care. You and he are friends, for some strange reason I can't determine. Can you tell me what's wrong with him?"

"Bones, you know he has feelings. Don't be like that."

"I know he wanted to strangle you, but that’s no proof at all, Jim—wanting to strangle you, that’s just logical, that is!"

A smile crept onto Jim's face. The sight was rarer now than when he'd been a cadet, but Bones’ company was almost always soothing, the exception being when Jim found himself an unwilling patient in sickbay.

"Just don't tell Spock that, okay?" Jim winked.

This in turn made Bones laugh. "Spock being stung by love?” The doctor shook his head. “Nahh, no way. But I suppose this will hurt his career, and for a Vulcan, that's probably the equivalent to the heartache we humans go through when we’re stupid enough to give our heart to someone."

Jim grunted his disapproval, but he didn't bother to reply further to Bones’ comments. He knew how soft Bones' heart really was. This was just his very special way of dealing with Spock, who Bones considered to be a cold hearted bastard.

Bones didn't look too good himself, now that Jim took a closer look.

“Is anything wrong?” he asked.

“Urgh. Seems the dragon got bored of banging my lawyer and has focused her attention back on making my life hell. Love sure can screw you over, can’t it?”

Jim didn’t reply; he just didn’t know what to say. While he wanted Bones to know he was there to listen, he also wanted to take Bones’ mind off these things, since there was little Bones could do about his ex-wife’s outbursts.

“Hello? Anyone home?” his friend grumbled.

“I’m here, I’m listening.”

“You ever had to deal with a vindictive ex?”

Jim considered his reply. “No, not really.”

“Lucky for some.”

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it,” Jim said and grinned, seeing an opening to lead the conversation in slightly a different direction.

He leant towards Bones. “I just have excellent taste.”

“No you don’t.”

“That’s what you always say.” He winked. “Oh, I’ve made a few mistakes, such as that woman back on Rigel V. But love makes blind fools out of all of us, doesn’t it?”

Bones laughed so hard he started choking.

When he had gained control again, he said red-faced, “You think that’s love? You know, I think we’ve been talking past one another all these years. That’s not the sort of love I was talking about! I was referring to when,… when two people find one another… . That notion you have of love, that’s all superficial. Knights in shining armor rescuing purple prin-,”

“Purple and tentacled,” Jim corrected, standing up and then swinging himself up onto his desk in front of Bones’ chair.

“Fine—purple and tentacled princesses… well, it’s all just fluff and no substance.”

“I know, I know,” Jim said and threw his hands up into the air. “You’re right. But what can I do? I’m a sucker for love!”

“Ahem.”

Jim narrowed his eyes. “Sucker for what I mistake for love?”

“That’s better! Well, I'm off. See you later!"

And with that he left Jim's quarters.

Jim knew he had to act. He turned around to face the computer screen on his desk. There had to be some way he could help Spock with this media shit storm. After losing his planet, Jim was sure Spock must be in terrible pain, and he couldn’t even start to imagine what sort of help Spock was really in need of. He swallowed past a hard knot that was forming in his throat.

What the Admiralty would think, how it wasn’t his place to plead on Spock’s behalf, how it was unprofessional, those were all thoughts Jim pushed from his mind so he could focus on the communication he was drafting to Admiral Pike. Somehow, Jim had to convince Pike to lobby for Starfleet not to start an inquiry against Spock.

***

The punching bag swung towards Jim. He waited until the last moment to kick it hard with the ball of his foot, sending it spinning in the opposite direction again. One moment he held himself in balance, one foot in the air, the other on the ground, the next his foot slipped and he smacked onto the floor. Back the bag came, Jim jumping up to hit it with his left fist this time. Pike still hadn’t sent a reply. What was taking him so long?

In the corner of his vision he saw Lieutenant Trentino walk up to him. The man, older than Jim, was responsible for keeping the crew in shape, planning their training and managing the gym along with his other duties.

“Careful there, Captain,” he said. “You certainly seem to have some issues with that poor bag.”

Jim stopped the bag with the left side of his body.

Trentino shook his head slowly. “I know this is a young crew, but I’ve never seen any crew punish a punching bag so much. That people physically try and punish themselves after a mission gone wrong, that I’ve seen before. That’s normal, but you and most others on this ship are in that state the entire time.”

Jim’s chest was still heaving from the exertion, and sweat was beading on his forehead. He wiped it away and looked down at his feet.

“Vulcan’s destruction—.”

Jim nodded quickly. “I know.”

Lieutenant Trentino hadn’t been there, he didn’t know what it was like, so Jim felt there was no use in getting drawn into any discussion with the man. A few hasty excuses later and Jim was off to the showers. It didn’t take an expert to work out that the atmosphere on the _Enterprise_ was different from that on any other ship of the fleet and why that was so. His crew were who they were and he didn’t want to change that.  
That night Jim lay in bed staring longingly at the pill bottle Bones had given him, which now rested on his nightstand. Bones was right, wasn’t he? There was no reason he shouldn’t take one. At that moment Uhura called. She had a call from Pike waiting for him.

“Put it through to my room now,” he replied.

He rushed to his wardrobe, took off his pajama top, threw on his uniform undershirt and accepted the call from Pike at his desk.

Jim grinned. “Sir, thank you for responding to my messages. I appreciate it, really.”

“This whole situation is rather embarrassing for everyone.” Pike sighed before continuing, “no one really wants to see this lead to an inquest. Do you think I do? But we can’t bend the rules, not when the public is watching and paying such close attention to our every move. There will be an inquest, the question just remains when it will be held and who will be on the panel.”

Jim swallowed and looked away from the screen.

“Kirk,” Pike said sternly and Jim snapped to attention. He saw, though, that the admiral’s eyes were warm and understanding. “You would not have gotten command of this vessel if I had any concerns about your ability to understand the need to enforce the rules and regulations. That is something we expect in every Starfleet captain. You use your brain and don’t follow those rules blindly yourself, which, in my opinion, makes you a superb officer.”

Worry crept into Pikes eyes. “So what is this about? Is it about Spock? Is he not coping? Heaven knows he’s been through enough already.”

Jim considered his reply. Spock was doing his job just fine and obviously he’d been through worse – everyone knew that. Spock wouldn’t let this get to him. But still … .

Jim swallowed hard. Spock was … when he pictured Spock in his mind … he saw the man who’d trusted him with his life on Nero’s ship as he’d rifled through a Romulan’s mind; the man who’d piloted the Vulcan spaceship straight into the heart of the enemy vessel, and the man who’d marooned him on Delta Vega, too, of course—he’d never underestimated Spock since.

Jim rubbed his temples with his fingers. “No, Spock’s … I guess he’s okay. Yeah, he’ll probably be fine.”

Pike relaxed and a thin smile crept onto his face. “Well, if that’s all, Captain, I’ve got work to do.”

The screen went blank. Jim took off his undershirt again, folded it neatly, then grabbed the pills, went to the bathroom for water and took two according to the label’s instructions. He picked up his pajama top from the floor, and just about managed to get it on before falling into bed where blissful nothingness took him into her arms.


	3. Chapter 3

In Jim’s dark quarters a high pitched beep sounded. Jim yawned and dragged himself out of bed. The blinking comm panel told him he had one new unread message, from Starfleet headquarters. The last remnants of sleep flew from his mind and his heart started beating faster. Finally, the new orders!

The message was long and with his fuzzy head it took him longer than usual to read. Attached to it were star charts, historical documentation and a few readings from a sensor array.

Jim sagged back into his chair and let out a breath. He checked the message over one more time, but there was no indication of who specifically had sent it. No matter, he was almost certain it was from Pike, and he’d remember to thank him when next they spoke. Spock needed a mission he could really get his teeth into, something to distract him from … everything. His whole crew needed such a mission and he realized this would be perfect. They were to head to a cluster of star systems near the Azure Nebula to search for a planet suitable to sustain a Vulcan colony.

A quarter of an hour later, Jim was briefing all department heads and sending out ship-wide announcements. While the hum of the _Enterprise’s_ engines was steadily increasing as the ship geared up to leave orbit, Jim found his blood coursing through his veins faster and harder too.

***

Jim laughed loudly and clapped Scotty on the back. "I knew you could get those sensors up to top efficiency in less than three weeks!"

"It'll help us when we finally reach our destination and start our search for a new planet for the Vulcans! Don’t you worry, Captain, we’ll find them a hot desert dust-ball in no time!”

Jim flashed him a wide grin. “Okay, I’m off to inspect the astrophysics labs, but don’t worry, I’ll be back to check up on the engines later.”

“You’ll find the _Enterprise_ running smoother than when she was a new lass!” Scotty shouted after him.

Everyone on the ship was busy and had been since they received their orders a month ago, working their hardest to prepare for the mission. Jim too felt a surge of hope at being part of this search. Now they’d nearly reached the far away Azure Nebula.

That evening, as soon as the doors to the officer’s rec room opened, his ears were treated to some sort of harp music and a soft voice. A few decks of cards, which had previously been collecting dust, lay spread-out on one table, and the 3D chess boards were occupied. Jim scanned the room for Bones. What caught his eye instantly, though, was the sight of Uhura resting her hands on the back of Spock’s chair, while he was playing some sort of lyre. She was singing along in a language he didn’t understand. He wondered if it was Vulcan.

The music sounded sad, although having any kind of music in the rec room was an improvement on the usually quiet and subdued atmosphere of the room where people tended to whisper rather than talk.

Watching Spock play such a soulful tune with such a blank face, was …, well, it made him itch all over to know if the music was a projection of what Spock was feeling, or just standard Vulcan music. He certainly envied Spock for being able to hide how he felt from the world … if only he himself could learn such self-control and logic! He knew, though, that his brain just wasn’t able to think in such a way.

Jim forced himself to take his eyes off Spock; he was here to see Bones. He spotted him on the other side of the room in a quiet corner and went over to him.

“Glad to see those two are back on track,” he said, as he sank into a seat next to his friend. “You know, I really wasn’t sure for a while.”

“No?” Bones said dryly. “I thought it was your job to know.”

“It is, but they’ve been through a lot,” he replied.

Bones nodded. “Although I find it hard to feel too sorry for our green blooded Don Juan.”

“True, you could see it that way.”

“What the hell does she see in him anyway?” Bones said. The man took a sip from his drink, then shook his head, grinning broadly.

“What?” Jim asked.

“I was just thinking that if that’s what the future Casanovas of this galaxy look like, I don’t stand a chance, do I?” It was clear from Bones’ light tone he was joking, though he then finished his drink in one gulp. “Well, I know you only just arrived, but it’s not my fault you don’t know where the rec room is and got lost on the way. I’ve got to go! Got to make sure sickbay is running smoothly.”

The rec room doors opened to let Bones out.

Jim closed his eyes so he could pay more attention to the sound of the lyre. He’d never even known Vulcans enjoyed music—he hadn’t known Spock did. At that thought he frowned and opened his eyes again; looking around he saw groups of people talking to one another easily, Spock was still playing, while Uhura had joined a table and was setting up a game of cards. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, socializing effortlessly, all of them part of a group.

He didn’t belong. He got up and left for his quarters. At his arrival there he found the Admiralty had left a short message saying only that they’d be calling him tomorrow.

***

The main view screen on the bridge that had shown Admiral Barrows just moments ago was now blank. Jim sat very still for about a minute. No one on the bridge said a word.

He walked to the turbolift. “Commander, with me, please.”

There was no need for him to turn around to check if Spock was with him, he knew he was. When they were alone in the lift, he turned to Spock.

“So, the _USS Excalibur_? Headquarters must trust us to be able to complete this mission on our own, so what do you think this is all about? Why are they joining us? It’s taken us three weeks just to reach this sector and now all of a sudden, it’s no problem to call over another ship that happens to be nearby? Why not send the _Excalibur_ earlier to do some preliminary tests if they are meant to be helping us and were deployed close by anyway?”

“Captain, I am afraid I do not have the answers you are looking for.”

“No, of course not, but I value your speculations.”

“This sector has not been patrolled by Starfleet vessels in seven months due to a lack of ships. They might have reason to be concerned about security.”

“We’re in Federation territory…,” Jim trailed off and looked at Spock, their eyes meeting. “Hmmm. So I guess this message was an admission from headquarters that being in Federation territory doesn’t mean what it used to.”

***

“The _USS Excalibur_ has drawn up alongside us, and Captain Patel is ready to beam over,” Scotty said.

“Well, beam him over then!” Jim said over the intercom. “I’ll be with you in a few seconds.”

Jim flashed Scotty a broad smile when the doors to the transporter room opened moments later, as his officer brought the controls down to solidify the pattern of their guest.

Once the gold mist had faded Jim stepped closer to the transporter pads. “Welcome to the _Enterprise_ , Captain Patel!”

Pravit Patel was about the same height as Jim and had a similar build, but the grey streaks that peppered his otherwise black hair gave him an air of solidity and experience that Jim knew he lacked.

“Oh, none of that! Call me Pravit.”

“Jim,” he replied.

As Jim shook hands with Pravit he found his shoulder muscles relaxing. He hadn’t realized how tense he always was on-duty – and as a starship captain you were never really off-duty. It been four weeks already since he’d last visited Bones in sickbay and they’d shared that drink – it really was only on rare occasions he now got to address his chief medical officer as ‘Bones’.

“Wonderful new ship, I look forward to a tour of her!” Pravit said. “Though I fear we must get down to business first.”

This elicited a large smile from Jim. “This way to the briefing lounge,” he said, indicating.

“Commander Spock will be joining us to go over the mission details, but I thought we would get some of the more tedious paper work out of the way first,” Jim said as they walked through the corridors. Pravit agreed to that.

Once they reached the briefing lounge they got settled down at the table, PADDs spread out. They were both sipping some coffee that Jim had gotten them to see them through the grind of reading and signing the mission documents; only a few more to go, he told himself.

“So how have things been recently?” Patel asked. “Quiet?”

“For the most part,” Jim replied. “Though that enquiry into Commander Spock’s conduct has been giving me some headache, of course. It officially started three weeks ago – there was simply nothing I could do to convince anyone to drop the case.”

Patel knitted his brows. “Why were you trying to do that?”

Jim stared at him wide-eyed.

“It’s like this, Jim,” Patel said, “I understand you want to protect him because he’s Vulcan, and they’ve been through hell, but believe me, I speak from experience—you have to put such things aside when it comes to your first officer. As you know, and I’m sure Spock has observed, in the Fleet the rules can be, and are, broken by the command crew if the situation merits it. It’s very important that you’re able to completely trust your First. Spock breached a rule pertaining to ethical conduct; are you sure you can you trust his moral judgment? There’s a reason human captains and not computers are in charge of ships.”

Jim felt the heat rising to his face. “Spock, and every Vulcan, … they are not computers. Of course they are moral beings,” he hissed at Pravit. “I trust Spock absolutely.”

Pravit didn’t seem perturbed in the least by Jim’s outburst and Jim quickly tried to get himself under control again.

“Jim, I did not mean to imply that Vulcans were simply walking, talking computers,” Pravit said. “I was questioning one individual’s ability to make the right decisions. I hope you are placing your trust in him with good reason, not simply to assuage feelings of guilt you may be experiencing due to Vulcan’s destruction.”

Jim focused on breathing calmly. “Captain, with all due respect, you know nothing of the relationship that exists between me and my first officer.”

“I am simply offering you frank advice,” Pravit said, looking at him over the rim of his coffee cup, still maddeningly serene.

Jim felt stupid for his outburst. Pravit had been nothing but polite and helpful so far, and he was aware that his reaction to what Pravit had just said probably did nothing to alleviate Pravit’s fears that he might be biased towards Spock simply because he was a Vulcan.


	4. Chapter 4

The paperwork finally completed, Jim switched off the last of the PADDs before calling the bridge to ask Spock to join them. When he introduced Spock and Pravit to one another the other captain was friendly and polite.

Jim displayed the star charts on the main screen, which highlighted perfectly why this mission was necessary—few areas in this region had been extensively charted; those areas that had, were tagged with a label in a bold font that said: ‘information unreliable’. At this Jim felt his heart beat faster; he just couldn’t get his body to stand still. He walked back and forth in front of the screen, and it really was a fight to keep himself from fidgeting. There were worlds out there just waiting to be explored!

He looked at Pravit and Spock. While a small smile graced Pravit’s face, it seemed that Spock was practicing his best ‘brick wall’ impression. The focus of Spock’s eyes shifted from the chart to Jim’s face, which caused the skin under his thin uniform sleeves to tingle due to the raw energy Spock was emitting—the air in the room was electric, almost tangible. Spock might control his body to such a degree that he often resembled a marble statue from Earth’s ancient past, but his eyes… it was his eyes, often left unshuttered, that allowed Jim to steal a glimpse in at the emotions that were contained inside that Vulcan body.

Jim forced himself to look back at the chart. “Now shall we discuss the details of this sector and divide up the workload?”

Pravit got up and walked to the map. “We thought the planets over in this cluster would be too hot, so we can cut that patch out entirely.”

“I disagree,” Spock said. "There is still a reasonable chance a few planets there would present themselves as ideal candidates.”

Pravit stared at him. Then he looked back at the map and pointed to one of the planets. “That planet has five suns!”

Spock’s step was full of energy as he made his way around the briefing room table to join Pravit in front of the screen.

“Its orbit does, however, bring it sufficiently far away from all of them to sustain liquid water, while the massive gravitational pull from the stars is enough to assure that it is not a ‘dead body’, but one with a molten core.”

Jim grinned. Spock was amazing, and with him at the helm of the scientific end of this mission he felt secure that no alien rock would be left unturned in their search. A month or two from now Spock’s people would be able to leave their dreary, temporary city on the outskirts of San Francisco.

The warning panels on the wall flashed red. From one moment to the next the briefing room was plunged into semi-darkness as the emergency lights turned themselves on, while alarm sirens rang out.

“Bridge to Captain Kirk.” Sulu’s voice sounded over the intercom.

The sound of Sulu’s voice, the urgency and the adrenaline Jim heard in it, made the blood vessels in his heart feel like they had been injected with ice water.

He hit the comm panel to activate the channel. “Kirk here. What’s the situation, Lieutenant?”

“An unidentified ship, sir.”

Jim’s heart pounded furiously against his chest as he shot up out of his chair. “On my way.”

The three of them sprinted towards the door of the briefing lounge. When they reached the bridge, Jim took the captain’s seat.

“Report!” he said.

“We detected a ship-,” Sulu started to reply.

“Another sheep, sir!” Chekov burst out. “Or the same one. On our short-range sensors … no, it iz gone again now!”

Jim ran up to the window and looked out. “It’s still there,” he said, “It’s flying past that moon.”

“The sensors show nothing, sir,” Chekov said.

The ship had only been visible to Jim for a fraction of a second. He sat back down in his chair, clenching the armrests.

“Do you have the energy readings from that Klingon vessel?” he asked.

Sulu spun around. “Klingon?”

“Yes, it was a Klingon ship. The sensor readings we took, Lieutenant!”

He’d only been in Starfleet a year as a cadet when he’d first seen the outline of that class of Klingon vessel. There was no way in hell he could mistake it, the sight branded onto his mind forever.

Sulu was frowning. “Well, um, the sensors weren’t able to scan them for long, sir, so we couldn’t pick up the ship’s configuration, but looking at the energy signature I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Klingon.”

“How sure is ‘pretty sure’?” Spock asked. “Could you specify, Lieutenant?”

“Well, I’m not sure—seventy, maybe eighty percent? The energy signature of Klingon spacecraft is very distinctive. But they were on the edge of our sensor range, of course."

Pravit stepped next to Jim. “How can you be so sure? The ship was very far away and only visible for a short time."

"Stardate 2255.78, when the Klingons were blockading our dilithium mines on De’anvor V. I was there. Believe me, I know the sight of a Klingon vessel at a distance."

"Could we hail my ship?” Pravit asked.

“Of course. Lieutenant Uhura, open a channel to the _Excalibur_ and put the call on the main view-screen.”

“Yes, sir.” She turned to her console.

A petite woman with a short crop of blond hair, wearing science-blue, appeared on screen.

She drew her eyebrows together. “Commander Isabaev, here. What is your situation, Captain Kirk?”

“We detected a ship at the edge of our sensor range, though it has since moved out of reach of our scanners.”

Pravit moved to stand next to Jim. “Commander, did our sensors pick up a vessel? And if so, would you say it was Klingon?”

“Yes our sensors detected a ship, but only for a few seconds. We are still trying to analyze the sensor readings." Isabaev turned to someone out of sight. “Lieutenant, check both short and long range sensors for Klingon energy signatures. Check the logs too.”

When she turned back to them she shook her head though. “It doesn’t appear to have been a Klingon ship.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Jim said.

She nodded curtly and then the view-screen went blank.

Could he have been wrong? Jim thought back to the blockade – his first command. They'd captured more Klingon ships than they’d been able to pull with tractor beams and there had been very few people spare to crew them. He'd been given a few mechanics, an engineering technician and a few security personnel who were to keep an eye on the Klingon prisoners (all of them, thankfully, had remained unconscious) and that was it! He was told the ship was his!

And he'd screwed up. When they were rescued via shuttle craft, flying back to the Farrgut, he’d forced himself to look out of the window at his Klingon ship, which had stood out dark against the bright desert surface of De’anvor V – its outline crisp and clean. That image signified the failure of his first command experience.

Jim stared at the view-screen in front of him, at the moon which had outlined the Klingon ship.

"I know what I saw," Jim said. "Yellow alert status. We need to call a meeting with the admiralty at once. Lieutenant Uhura," he said and nodded at his communications officer, who turned to her station and got busy at once.

"The meeting will take a while to set up,” Pravit said. “I suggest we go over the sensor data with a fine comb and try to make sense of the energy readings."

***

It might have been a bit perverse to be glad for the delay in setting up the meeting, but Jim didn’t care. It gave him gave him more time to go over the readings, or more precisely, it gave Scotty more time to go over them – engines and their energy signatures being his area of expertise. For now Pravit had returned to the _Excalibur_ to oversee his own crew’s analysis of their data, leaving Jim to pace up and down in his office while he and Spock discussed the situation.

“Okay, let’s just look at the data one more time,” Jim said.

It was still hopelessly beyond his analysis capabilities, though, and even Spock didn’t seem to be able to make heads or tails of it. Defeated, Jim put his PADD down, closed his eyes and massaged his temples.

"Damnit, I know what I saw, Spock."

Spock didn’t reply, but the sound of him tapping on his PADD stopped. Jim kept his eyes shut. He’d been in command and he’d messed up. The ship’s black shadow mocked him. Even though Captain Pike had said he’d done a good job preventing the Klingons from recapturing the vessel, that it didn’t matter that the warp core had overloaded, that no one had expected a cadet with only a few month experience in space to make all the right calls, he still felt like he’d disappointed him.

“Sir,” Uhura’s voice rang through the intercom, “I’ve set up a secure channel to Fleet headquarters. Admiral Barrow is standing by.”

“Thank you Lieutenant,” Jim said as he and Spock got up to leave his quarters. “Stand by to transfer the call through to the briefing room.”

When the turbo lift doors closed behind them, Jim took a few deep breaths. He was damned sure of what he’d seen, there had to be a sensor malfunction, it was the only explanation that they’d been unable to pick up any readings from the ship even when he’d been able to see it clearly with his eyes. The breathing exercise helped him calm down somewhat, but finding Klingons this far into Federation territory could only spell trouble for their mission.

Spock didn't look troubled and he allowed himself to take comfort and strength from that. It was good to have an unflappable first officer.

***

“We cannot risk war with the Klingons,” Admiral Barrow said.

Jim stared back at the older man on the screen. “I’m fully aware of that, sir.”

“Good. Keep it in mind at all times.”

“We’d lose,” Jim said.

He could feel both Pravit and Isabaev’s eyes on him. Spock, he knew, hadn’t taken his eyes off the screen.

“We will not contact the Klingons without good reason, and the sensors from both ships prove you wrong, Captain,” Barrow said. “Kirk, you are aware that computers tell the truth, aren’t you?”

Barrow turned to Pravit. “Do you have any reason to doubt the sensors and computers on both ships, Captain? Do you believe the vessel Kirk saw was Klingon?”

“I think the computer is the more reliable witness. The energy signatures were not Klingon,” Patel said, straight-faced.

Jim did not blame him for the comment. He was only doing his job.

Then, Barrow turned to Spock. “Commander, you have an in-depth familiarity with the computer systems onboard the _Enterprise_. You would agree with Captain Patel’s assessment of the situation, would you not, that the computer evidence is more reliable?”

Jim clenched his fists. Using the Vulcan logic against him, damn that man! Of course computers were logic based devices, while humans had flaws … he didn’t have time to finish that train of thought, though.

“On the contrary,” Spock said.

Suddenly all eyes were on the alien. “The Captain has no reason to lie about this. Everyone on the bridge was focused on their instruments, myself included, and only the Captain was close to the view screen to observe the other ship. It is my logical conclusion, that, considering the sensors were unable to detect the ship at all, that Captain Kirk speaks the truth.”

“No one is doubting the Captain’s integrity, just his eyes,” Barrow said.

“Admiral,” Spock responded, “Captain Kirk has experience with the Klingons, and not just recently. I know you are aware of the missions he did with Admiral Pike before completing his officer training at the academy. Klingon ships are very distinctive in shape. We would be wise to trust his judgment on the matter.”

“But the energy readings we got …,” Isabaev said.

Spock turned to her. “Then we should consider the possibility that this ship has a new type of engine as well as some device on board that interferes with our sensors.”

“Engineering to Captain Kirk,” Scotty’s voice sounded over the intercom.

It must be important for him to interrupt, Jim thought. And it was. Scotty had run the tests he’d asked for on the sensors and indeed the radiation from the nebular was affecting them in some way, enough for the short range sensors to cut in and out, but also give them incorrect data on the long range sensors. It didn’t prove that Jim was correct, especially since it didn’t explain the energy signatures entirely, but it did lend some support to his argument.

Eventually Pravit coughed politely. “Are we to continue our mission here for the time being, Admiral?”

The strained silence continued for a few more heartbeats.

“Please transfer your analyzed results, Captain Kirk, and I will discuss this matter with the other admirals and call you back shortly,” Barrow said.

He hadn’t been joking about calling back soon, it was only half an hour before he was on-screen again. And now he was joined by Admiral Pike.

“Yes,” Pike confirmed, “you’re to continue your mission. However, it has been decided… .”

Jim swallowed. He found he disliked the sound of this decision already; anything that Had Been Decided by the anonymous admiralty-entity was bad news.

“… that both your ships should stray no further than one parsec from one another. We will also send you a flight-plan that should take you past most planets, but will take you close to the Klingon border. We need to show some presence there. Thirdly—,” and here Pike directed his gaze specifically at Jim, “—no one, I want to make this very clear, no one is to visit the surface of any of the planets.”

Jim felt the heat of indignation slowly start to rise up in his stomach. Why was he being singled out?

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Admiral, such a restriction is unnecessary and will disrupt our exploration. We must be allowed to go down to the surface—.”

“You ‘must’?” Barrow said, “I think you’ll find what you ‘must’ do is to follow these orders to the letter. I will personally see that anyone who breaks them is kicked out of Starfleet faster than you can say Mississippi. You don’t have reliable sensor functions. No, when you drop out of warp you will have your shields up. You may beam from ship to ship, but you will certainly not lower them to beam landing parties down to a planet where they may be stranded if there is an attack.”

“Yes, sir.” Spock's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he said that.

“So I’ve made myself clear? Good!”

Jim decided Pike might not have singled him out without reason after all. He might have to keep Spock in check. Well, that might prove interesting.

“You think you’ll be unable to complete the assignment unless you can send down away teams?” Pravit asked Spock.

“Our likelihood of success would be greatly reduced,” Spock replied.

Jim shot Pravit a grateful look. He appreciated his help. Jim clasped his hands together and found that he was sweating slightly as he started to fully understand what Spock was trying to say.

“And if that is the case,” Jim joined in, “then we’re risking not only a massive waste of time and resources, but also potentially miscategorizing planets… we might recommend a planet with potentially dangerous faults.”

“So you would have us cancel the mission?” Barrows said turning to Spock once more. “Commander Spock, of all of us I would have expected you to understand that we need to find somewhere for your people. There are not many suitable planets in the galaxy that are ready to be inhabited. The first planet your people chose as your new home was… well, you know of the tragedy, of course.”

A small ball of anger was slowly unfurling its talons inside Jim’s stomach. He felt his fists clench and he quickly moved them off the table and out of sight.

“Commander Spock has already identified a few candidate planets in this sector,” Pravit said.

“Perfect,” Barrow replied, “You can investigate those, then. I have great trust in you all that you will adapt to the restrictions we’ve placed on your mission. I understand the sensors are not working at their optimum, but maybe you can improve their accuracy.”

Jim took a deep breath. “And I hope,” he said, “that you will attend to the matter of keeping the Klingons out of this sector.”

“Yes, that is our primary concern, of course,” Barrow said, through narrowed eyes.

As soon as the screen went blank Jim sighed with relief. He finally knew for sure that Starfleet would at least contact the Klingons despite the initial doubts about his testimony, and really, that was all he could ask for. He knew he had Spock and Scotty to thank for that.


	5. Chapter 5

The crews of the _Enterprise_ and _Excalibur_ had been searching for a suitable planet for nearly three weeks. Jim scrolled quickly through the texts and diagrams in a report from Scotty, stopping only to read the paragraphs containing numbers until he found what he was looking for—the engineer had been able to improve their sensors’ external quantum efficiency by forty-six point seven percent. Nice work, as it would save power, but it wouldn’t make it any more likely that the next planet they investigated wouldn’t also prove to be as much of a waste of time as all the previous ones.

The doors to Jim’s quarters swished open. Jim looked up from his work to see Spock standing in the doorway; punctual as always, even though this was an informal meeting.

Jim moved out from behind his desk to sit on the bench sofa. “Come in, Spock.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at the seating arrangement, but sat down next to him. The sofa had seemed like a more casual place for this conversation, which was bound to be very awkward, he knew how private Spock was, after all. Now, though, he wondered whether Spock might’ve felt more comfortable if he’d kept the setting formal. Without the space of the desk separating them from one another, the atmosphere was certainly more … intense.

He took a deep breath—it might not be any of his goddamned business, but he was the captain and they were both stationed on the bridge; according to Starfleet protocol that made it his business.

“So, um, how’s your relationship with Lieutenant Uhura going?”

Spock’s eyes widened infinitesimally; he quickly turned his head and looked out of the window at the passing stars.

“Captain, I must apologize—.”

Jim knitted his brow and stopped Spock midsentence. “What are you apologizing for?”

“That I did not inform you that Lieutenant Uhura and I are no longer in a romantic relationship.”

For a moment all Jim could do was stare. He had not expected this. While he’d been worried about their relationship, he’d also been sure that Spock would’ve told him if they’d broken up.

“Since when?”

Jim found himself shuffling his body into a slightly different position on the seat, but no position he could find was comfortable.

“Since the inquiry started,” Spock said evenly.

Jim ground his teeth. The inquest was nearly at its close, the results expected next week. He’d have to remember to make sure nothing breakable was in his reach when he read the verdict. Damn them! And why hadn’t Spock told him earlier? If this had been a recent development, he’d have understood. Apart from the fact he’d thought he and Spock were friends, it was unprofessional. There were some rules against fraternization still, but most of them had been relaxed in the last sixty or so years. It was fine for two bridge officers to be together as long as he was kept informed. He clenched his jaw.

They talked for a while longer; Spock did his best to steer the conversation towards other topics, such as the improvements the crew were making to the sensors. But Jim wasn’t focusing on what his first officer was saying, wasn’t making any effort to appear as if he was. Spock made his excuses to get away from the uncomfortable situation. Jim was surprised he’d stayed as long as he had.

***

“Is there anything a ship’s deflector dish can’t do?” Jim said.

“Sir?” Isabaev asked.

“Hmmm? Oh! Nothing, I was just thinking out loud. Don’t mind me.”

He stepped over the cables on the floor, which reminded him of an upturned plate of multi-colored spaghetti. That had always been his favorite as a kid—multi-colored spaghetti with ice cream and chocolate sauce. It was just as good as it sounded and it was quite a letdown the _Enterprise_ ’s food synthesizers weren’t able to make something that complicated.

Spock was kneeling down on the floor next to Isabaev, hooking cables up to data terminals and PADDs.

He looked up. “Captain, we can finish without you here. You have not rested in over thirty-six hours.”

Jim met his eyes; they looked so human.

“I can ‘not rest’ for another hour,” he said. “If I go to bed now, then I will have stayed up all this time for nothing.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

Jim shook his head quietly. It was clear Spock wasn’t following his ‘logic’.

“It won’t be much longer,” Isabaev said. “Once we’ve finished re-routing these cables the computer should be able to process the data we’re going to feed it a lot faster.”

Jim smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

After standing around them for another few minutes, Jim started to feel very uncomfortable. He remembered back when he was a midshipman and Commander Jelínek had insisted on constantly looking over his shoulder as he’d repaired a data sub-station. Jelínek had been such a control freak; he’d been glad when that assignment had ended and he’d gone back to the Academy to sit some exams.

So Jim found a bit of floor that was mostly clear of cables, pushed aside the few that were still in the way, and sat down, resting his back against a bulkhead.

The two first officers worked silently and efficiently. He watched from afar as Spock knelt down to take something out of a toolbox, his pointy ears far more elegant than Isabaev’s round ones.

That observation led him to reflect on Spock’s reluctance to talk to him about Uhura. Spock wasn't human, even if his mother had been—he’d grown up a Vulcan, so Jim had to be careful applying his own set of standards to him. Vulcans seemed to be very private people. Spock might never choose to talk to him about his private life, no matter how close they became in the future, and hell, they were already incredibly close – in battle they had each other’s backs, protected and relied on one another without a second thought.

He felt some of his back muscles relax. A little while later, … had it been minutes or an hour? He wasn’t sure… the two firsts stood up.

“Finished,” Isabaev said.

Jim got up and went to join them, stretching his tired muscles as he walked. They turned on the data terminal; numbers flashed across the screen in large arrays, while huge matrices were calculated in nano-seconds. He fought back a yawn and tried to wake himself up by finding something to focus on, but the data was being analyzed too quickly for him to keep track of it.

“Spock, can you tell anything yet?”

“LK98-9 is unsuitable,” he replied.

Jim looked from Spock’s impassive face to Isabaev’s. She had clenched her jaw.

“That’s the planet we’d had high hopes for, isn’t it?”

Neither of them replied, though, as suddenly they both had their eyes glued to the display again.

“What’s going on now?”

“There’s a planet in sector XH-7 that we’d discounted,” Isabaev said. “It seemed to be ‘dead’ … but the deflector dish’s readings show that it does have a magnetosphere of some kind.”

She turned to him with wide eyes. “It’s probably still unsuitable, but it proves that this technique works.”

Jim grinned at her. This was great news; their sensors alone just weren’t up to the job.

“There.” Spock stopped stream of analyzed data and pointed.

Jim followed the line of his elegant finger and let out a low whistle. “That looks good. Which planet is that?”

“HUY-98-6. We are scheduled to pass by its solar system in five point three days,” Spock replied. “I will take the data to astronomy.”

“Yes, do that. We’ll let you know if there’re any other interesting results here.”

When Spock left and the doors had closed behind him Isabaev turned to Jim and shook her head.

“I can’t believe after all this time we’ve spent building and programming this computer, he’s happy to just go over the data in the astronomy lab. He’ll miss the rest of the analysis!”

“The data’s not going anywhere. It doesn’t matter to him if he’s here or not.”

“But you’re here,” she said.

“Yes, but logically I should be in bed,” he said and smiled weakly.

They watched the progress for a while longer in silence.

“Is it true?” Isabaev asked.

“Is what true?” Jim replied, mind not really focused on her words.

“Well, … about him and Lieutenant Uhura?”

Jim clenched his hands into fists automatically.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“The inquest will rule in a few days,” Jim replied quietly.

Then this whole saga would be over, he hoped. It grated on his nerves that neither had informed him that their relationship was over. He covered his face with his hands to stop his anger from showing; Spock had apologized, after all, and in professional terms he supposed it was relatively unimportant for him to know who wasn’t sleeping together anymore.

Isabaev leant in closer. “It’s just… if it really is true… I simply find it hard to believe now that I’ve actually got to know Commander Spock. He’s such a cold person.”

“Yes, Vulcans do have a lower core body temperature, but I think you’ll find his skin still feels warmer to the touch than most humans,” he replied woodenly.

She stared at him wide-eyed, but Jim felt worn out—he didn’t want to talk to her. He left her at the console and stepped up to a large window. Oh, he’d never admit it to anyone, and even if he did, no one would believe him, least of all Bones, but he was a romantic through and through. He was surprised and confused at how Spock and Uhura’s relationship had ended—wasn’t it written in the stars that when two lovers so different got together, against all odds, that they stuck by each other ‘til the end of time, come hell or high water, or in this case, the media?

***

Jim looked down at the PADD on his desk. As Spock’s commanding officer it fell to him to write the reprimand once the board had ruled on his conduct—which it now had. Spock knew how he felt on the issue, so why was this so hard? Just write down anything, it wouldn’t matter. But he’d once been on the receiving end of these kinds of reports himself.

In his lost years, as Pike had so politely and succinctly put it, he’d been a ‘repeat youth offender’. He’d been to prison only twice, and both times for short stays, half a year maximum, as his crimes hadn’t really been all that bad—at least they hadn’t seemed so back then. Now, though… he shuddered. He didn’t want anyone to associate the man he was now with the youth he’d been then.

A month after his release from his second stint in prison he’d hacked into the system and read his probation officer’s report. Some said the truth hurt, and Jim wasn’t going to disagree with that, but it had been about more than simply seeing it spelled out for him; it was a universal truth, he thought, that it was hard to accept yourself for someone you didn’t want to be. When you were forced to do so, it was devastating.

And that’s what he was afraid of, wasn’t it? Writing this down made it real somehow … had Spock acted correctly? Right and wrong were very difficult concepts for one person alone to have to decide. But laws and rules didn’t always leave room for individual circumstances. That excuse was one he’d used himself many times, his treacherous mind supplied. Jim picked up the offending PADD and wrote the reprimand. He didn’t stop until he’d finished the damned thing and added it to Spock’s permanent record.

***

The next day Jim and Spock were alone in the turbo lift on their way to the bridge of the _USS Excalibur_. Spock looked a bit off-color. Had he already read the reprimand?

“Are you ok?” Jim asked.

Spock turned his head and raised an eyebrow at him.

Jim shuffled his feet. “You just seem a bit… on edge.”

Spock tilted his head and looked away from Jim. “While working with the navigator on the bridge of the _Excalibur_ I noted that I was an object of visual observation. People were looking at me more frequently than they do on average on the _Enterprise_.”

“We’ll be back on our ship soon,” Jim replied, keeping his eyes fixed on Spock’s face, but the Vulcan didn’t turn his head again, avoiding meeting his eyes.

When they exited the turbo lift Commander Isabaev turned to look back over her shoulder at Spock, before returning her attention to Captain Patel. Spock walked over to Ensign N’goz at navigation and Jim followed him, but stood back a bit.

“Captain Kirk and I have discussed the proposed alterations to our flight plan with Starfleet headquarters. The course change has been approved. A minor deviation of one point four degrees is required to take us to HUY-98-6.”

“Yes, sir, we’re already scheduled to arrive in that system. In a matter of minutes actually,” Ensign N’goz said. “I’ll make the adjustments to take us to the planet.”

A young ensign manning the communications terminal turned around in her seat. “Sir, the _Enterprise_ is hailing us.”

“On screen,” Captain Patel said and looked over his shoulder at Jim.

“Mr. Sulu, what can I do for you?” Jim asked, stepping forward.

“We’ve received a message from the Klingons via Starfleet headquarters. I’m transmitting it to you now.”

Jim’s face went serious at once. The screen was blank for a few seconds before the transmission started.

“Starfleet, you have sent battleships into a region of space we, the Klingon Empire, lay claim to. The system your ships are currently heading towards is legitimately Klingon. If your vessels are not recalled from the sector immediately we will be forced to take action.”

Jim shot a glance at Spock, who had gone very tense. He could tell Spock was fighting for control. Spock would have hated anyone noticing that his famed control was slipping, especially in full view of everyone on the _Excalibur’s_ bridge… . Jim looked away quickly, pretending he hadn’t noticed, and hoping no one else had, either.


	6. Chapter 6

“Captain, we are still at warp, we can’t beam you back,” Isabaev protested as she raced after Jim towards the transporter room.

Jim looked over his shoulder. Spock wasn’t behind him. He hadn’t expected him to follow—Spock still had to go over the course change in detail, otherwise their two ships might end up crashing into each other. Still, he wished Spock was with him.

“You can’t?” he shouted back over this shoulder.

It seemed Starfleet still didn’t trust the equations.

“Well Commander, let’s just say I have a very good chief engineer.” And with that he increased his pace; Isabaev couldn’t keep up with him.

In under half a minute he was back onboard his ship and thanking Scotty. When he got to the bridge Sulu was talking to Pravit on the main screen. He couldn’t see Spock there.

If Pravit was surprised at how fast Jim had managed to get back to his command chair, he didn’t show it. When the call ended the main view screen changed back to the familiar, serene image of stars shooting past. Jim bit his tongue; there was a bitter taste in his mouth. It seemed to him the admiralty had failed—most spectacularly so.

“We’ve just entered the Heuygens system, sir,” Sulu said. “ETA to HUY-98-6 is three minutes.”

“Is Spock back on board yet?” Jim asked.

“I just received a message from the transporter room,” Uhura said. “He’s here now.”

“Shields up, yellow alert.”

It wasn’t long until the turbolift doors swished open and Spock strode onto the bridge. Jim noted that he seemed to have found his composure again.

“Dropping out of warp now, sir,” Sulu said.

Jim braced himself.

There was no phaser fire and the ship wasn’t shaking. They had avoided falling into a nest of Klingon warbirds.

He let go of the armrests and as he did he felt everyone (minus Spock) collectively let out the breath they’d been holding. In place of the stream of stars on the view-screen a reddish-orange planet lazily rolled into view. The sight caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end—although the planet was beautiful, it was an eerie sight, so similar was it in appearance to an untouched version of Vulcan.

“Sir!” Chekov said. “A Klingon sheep!”

Jim saw it heading towards them fast—there was no need ask any of his officers to speculate on the Klingons’ intentions as the bridge shook with the impact of phaser fire.

Chekov held onto his terminal with both hands. “Shields down twenty percent, but holding.”

“Is there just one ship?” Jim asked.

Sulu looked up from his station. “Our sensors only detect one, sir.”

The ship shook again and Jim held onto the armrests tightly. “How’s the _Excalibur_?”

“Their shields are holding,” Sulu replied. “Sir, shouldn’t we fire back?”

“Not yet, just continue to evade as much of their fire as you can. Lieutenant Uhura, open a channel.”

“Open, sir,” she replied.

“This is Captain James T. Kirk, of the _USS Enterprise_. We request you cease fire. You are in Federation territory.”

The Klingon ship didn’t reply.

“The _Excalibur_ is hailing us, sir,” Uhura said.

“On screen.”

“Captain,” Pravit said, “I think they might be trying to provoke us into using our photon torpedoes.”

Jim gave a quick nod. “To make us destroy them and look like the aggressor.”

The ship shook.

“Shields down to fifty percent now,” Sulu reported.

“Seems your ship’s the primary target,” Pravit said. “We’ll try to draw fire.”

“We’ve got to find a way to disable their weapons,” Jim said.

“And preferably without them self-destructing,” Pravit added.

Spock turned to face Jim. “I will attempt to boost power to the science station to analyze our sensor readings. Maybe looking at third order effects will enable us see through their shields, allowing us to target only their weapons and defense systems.”

“Get to it.”

Spock got down onto his hands and knees ready to unfasten the screws to one of the panels below his station. The bridge shook again and the connection to the _Excalibur_ was terminated.

“We can’t take many more hits like the last one,” Sulu said.

Jim leant forward in his chair. “Send a warning shot across their nacelles.”

“Yessir!” Sulu replied.

Jim watched as the red line of energy missed the bird of prey. “And another one!”

The Klingons didn’t even try to evade.

“Lower phaser power to fifty percent and hit them!”

“The impact hardly even grazed their shields,” Sulu said. “Our own are now down to ten percent.”

“Keptin, we must act,” Chekov spoke up.

A ball of red came streaking towards them. It illuminated the bridge in the ghastly shade of fresh blood as it filled more and more of the view screen. Time slowed down.

Jim snapped his head away from the screen. “Spock, hurry!”

His heart was pounding furiously in his chest.

Then the light was gone, as the view screen went black. A heartbeat later it lit up blue as the Klingons’ photon torpedo crashed into the _Excalibur_ ’s shields as she flew between the enemy ship and the _Enterprise_. As she passed across the screen, the next volley was already on its way.

The sound of metal against metal alerted Jim that Spock had replaced the panel. As the entire screen was filled with red light the impact lifted him out his chair. Jim slammed back down, hitting his back on something hard. Work stations and overhead panels exploded. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Spock lose his footing and crash to the floor.

“Spock!” Jim’s cry echoed around the bridge.

Spock staggered to his feet, but one tentative step saw his knees buckling, although he was able to hold onto the railing in time to stop himself falling. He turned, checked the sensor readings and stumbled over to the helm, where he swept Sulu’s hands out of his way. Sulu moved and took over the navigational controls at another terminal.

On the view-screen Jim saw the Klingon vessel gather speed. It was heading right for them. Spock’s fingers flew across the console, sending a beam of Federation phaser fire its way—a burst of light as it hit Klingon shields—and again Spock fired their weapons. Once more he hit the other ship in the same spot.

Tendrils of black smoke were curling through the bridge, spreading into every corner; they sent Jim into a coughing fit. The air smelt toxic—an electrical fire somewhere! He had to ignore the stinging of his eyes and lungs.

“Again, Spock,” he shouted.

A thin line of fire was heading for them. The view changed by almost ninety degrees as Sulu used his best evasive maneuvers.

“Spock, now!”

Jim watched on as their phaser fire rushed towards the Klingon ship. It passed through their shields without resistance, scorching their hull black. Then another beam appeared. He drew in a sharp breath that burnt his lungs—the _Excalibur_ was joining in!

The Klingon ship went still.

“What’s their weapons’ status?”

“They are down,” Spock replied, “and so are their shields.”

Jim stood up and brought his sleeve to his mouth to keep the smoke away, surveying the bridge. Uhura was lying limp on the floor; her head resting in a pool of dark blood.

“Ensign Galand, I need you over on comms. Get me those Klingons on the view screen. And alert sickbay of our casualties.”

Galand pushed his way past the debris. “On screen now, sir.”

The Klingon was grinning. Jim took another painful breath and opened his mouth-.

“This is the Klingon war bird Hiran. We accept this… time out,” the Klingon said. “Captain Kirk, you will meet with me on my ship in thirty of your standard minutes to discuss the situation.”

And the screen went blank.

“Their position is unchanged,” Spock said.

“Open the channel again,” Jim barked.

He looked over to comms, but quickly averted his eyes again when they glanced on Uhura’s still form.

“They aren’t responding,” came Galand’s reply, “but the _Excalibur_ 's hailing us.”

“On screen.”

At that moment the turbolift doors hissed open. He turned his head—it was the medics. Jim snapped his head back to the screen. He sat up straight and explained the situation to Pravit. They quickly agreed for Pravit to beam over so they could hold talks with the Klingons together. Hopefully they would have time to come up with a strategy.

“Spock, you have the con,” he said as he made his way to rendezvous with Pravit.

***

Next to Jim, Pravit clasped his hands behind his back. Red light illuminated his features as the alarm sirens in the transporter room sounded continuously.

"I don’t trust them," Jim said, "but I think we should do it."

"The _Enterprise_ will have to lower her shields again,” Pravit said. “Right now their ship might be floundering in space, useless, but their main fleet might be just around the corner."

Jim nodded and jumped up onto one of the transporter pads.

"Every second we aren't searching for a diplomatic solution we risk both ships."

Pravit frowned. "What, you want to go now? They aren’t expecting us yet."

"As you said—let's not risk their friends knowing exactly when we’ll be dropping shields again."

Pravit joined him, phaser drawn.

“Energize,” they said in unison.

***

Jim had been very specific with the transporter co-ordinates—they materialized right on the Klingon’s bridge.

"Captain Kirk! Very good," the Klingon captain growled.

He was a good two heads taller than Jim and stared down at him from a few feet away.

“I can tell you are an astute tactician,” the Klingon continued. “But now you are trapped here!”

He walked over and eyed them both suspiciously. “Don’t remember me, do you, Kirk? Oh, don’t worry, I forgive you. You’d had too much blood wine.”

Kirk wracked his brains. He didn't remember him, but he'd read everyone else’s reports from their last mission with the Klingons. Spock had mentioned someone who hadn't been drinking, who’d just been observing; obviously military, not a politician… the name was Farog!

“Captain Farog,” he said, “you underestimate humans. That is your weakness.”

The Klingon captain rushed at him and threw him against a wall. Jim felt a shooting pain in his chest as he heard a damp ‘crack!’. There was nothing to hold on to and he crumpled to the ground. Calling a Klingon weak may have been an insult too far – or maybe he’d simply gotten his name wrong.

“Ah, Captain Patel of the _Excalibur_ – we have not yet had the pleasure, I believe. I hope you are less insolent than the whelp.”

Jim, wiping the blood out of his eyes, didn’t see Pravit’s reaction. A Klingon woman tried to pull him upright but he shook her off and got up on his own.

“Let's talk,” he said.

The Klingon Captain, who was probably named Farog, Jim had decided, laughed but gestured them towards a door. They followed his lead through the tall corridors; the familiar stink of the interior of a Klingon ship was assaulting Jim’s nostrils and forcing him to control his gag reflex. Cold hatred welled up inside him.

They came to a small room with a table and a few chairs in it. It was fortunate that it was him at the table and not that desk-bound has-been, Admiral Burrows. He was great at bullying from afar, no doubt trying to make up for missing the frontier of exploration and diplomacy, but he wouldn’t be the one who could turn this around. That task would fall to James T. Kirk, he told himself, and he would turn this around.

He wiped some more blood out of his eyes. Was he suffering from a concussion? His head felt a bit… light.

Almost as soon as the Klingon captain got them seated Jim asked, “So, when is the rest of your fleet arriving?”

Farog snorted. “Soon enough.”

He leant down towards Jim, so close that their noses were almost touching. Jim stood his ground, though the heat of Farog’s breath on his face made his stomach turn.

“You must make a choice,” Farog said.

His face contorted into a grimace, his teeth bared, and, turning, he looked at both of them. “Do you want to see the fleet, or do you not want to see it? If you want to fight, you will stay here and I will force you to watch as your ships are destroyed. Or you could surrender now and run away like a scared jilkat with your tail between your legs.”

“Surrender? Us? No. Never!” Jim slammed his fist down on the table.

He could feel the vibrations move all the way up his spine and into his skull; it hurt.

Pravit was signaling to Jim. He could see it somewhere just at the edge of his vision, but he kept his eyes glued to Farog’s.

“We can't surrender this system, we don’t have the authority,” Pravit said. “You’re intruding into Federation territory. I suggest we both withdraw our ships peacefully. Then we can arrange to set up another meeting on neutral ground between yourself and Federation officials.”

No, that’s not what Jim wanted. Another conference would do no good. This planet was the best candidate they’d found so far for the Vulcans. He couldn’t let it fall into Klingon hands. They’d never give it back unless something was done now—unless he played his cards right. And seeing as Captain Fargo seemed to be holding a pocket pair of aces, and all he had were a two and a seven, he’d better get them playing a game in which aces scored low.

“This is not Federation territory, it is Klingon. You must surrender or we will blast you out of existence.”

“As I said,” Pravit continued, “in accordance with the current peace treaty that exists between the Klingon Empire and the Federation we will withdraw and set up a conference to discuss the—.”

“You can have it,” Jim said.

He could feel the heat of the glare Pravit was directing at him. And, yeah, he wasn’t sure where he was going with this one yet, but he’d get there.

Farog laughed. “Are you so easily scared, Kirk, that you change your mind so quickly? One moment you won’t surrender, the next you give us the system!”

“Yes, it’s a… a gift,” Jim replied. “Quite a large one! It's the only solution to this problem that I can see.”

“Are you scared to die? Afraid to see your little ship burn?” Farog’s eyes were wide as he sneered at the men.

“No. I'm prepared to lay down my life if need be, just like any other Starfleet officer. Take my life if you want it!”

He threw his hands up in the air, exposing his chest. Hopefully it was a universal gesture. Pravit kicked him under the table—hard. Hot pain shot up from his shin, but he ignored it; the adrenaline had reached his brain.

Jim stood up. “I will die knowing that my honor is still intact. I'm not a coward—like a Klingon who would take a planet from the Vulcans. Yes, you heard me correctly, this system is Vulcan. This will be their new home world, they took ownership of it months ago. It belongs to a people who wouldn’t even raise a weapon in defense as they don't have any left. What magnificent and glorious battles you pick, Farog. But don’t worry—the system is our gift to you. It is the only solution: your name will not be tarnished and the Vulcan’s pride won’t suffer.”

Jim took a deep breath. This had to work, it just had to. He didn't know what the likelihood was the Farog would shoot him, but if he did, well, at least Pravit would still be able to do it the correct way.

Fargo spat on the table between them. Anger flashed across his dark eyes; he pulled an energy weapon from his belt. Ah... this was it, Jim thought as he stared at the glowing red tip of the weapon, this was the end—he was going to die. But he'd rather die like this than take back what he'd just said and look like an idiot.

"Go on!"

If Fargo didn't shoot him soon the slight tremors that were starting to run up his body would become noticeable, or he'd simply collapse on the spot.

“Get them off my ship.” Farog's voice was a low growl.


	7. Chapter 7

Jim didn’t really want to go see Bones again so soon—he’d spent enough time in sickbay recently, thank you very much—but he was his friend and had asked to see him. When he entered sickbay his eyes fell on Uhura’s still form. Although her eyes were closed he didn’t think she looked asleep.

He walked over to her. “How are you? You look a lot better than yesterday.”

She opened one eye. “My neck’s a bit stiff, but I’ll be alright.”

“That’s what I want to hear.”

A big smile lit up Jim’s face; it even reached his eyes this time. He was incredibly proud of his bridge officers and how they had handled the situation. The doors opened and both Bones and Nurse Chapel joined him at Uhura’s bedside. Jim went to stand outside the doctor’s office to give her some privacy as they discussed her treatment. Eventually Bones came over.

“That was a rough ride you took us on,” he said, leading the way into his office.

He fished two glasses out of a drawer. The alcohol he poured into them was normal Earth whiskey this time.

Jim held up a hand. “Not too much for me.”

“Huh,” Bones grunted.

Somehow Jim had come to expect his friend to drink the stuff in a few gulps, but instead of doing that, Bones sipped his drink.

“We nearly lost her, you know,” his friend said. “She’d almost bled to death when they brought her in here.”

Jim felt his heart constrict. It was all right, he had to tell himself, the danger was over. They weren’t in the middle of battle, he could allow himself to feel. There was a hard lump in his throat that made swallowing the harsh liquor difficult; he concentrated on the unpleasant burning sensation. Uhura would be alright, as would the other survivors—they were all Starfleet officers and excellent ones at that. Their missions were dangerous and they all knew it. If you weren’t prepared to die you didn’t sign up.

Jim stared at the floor. “How do you cope?”

“I'm a doctor, kid! A Starfleet doctor! I can't get depressed every time I lose a patient.”

Looking up, Jim saw that Bones’ eyes were full of emotion.

“I guess …” Bones continued, “somewhere during med school you either learn how to cope—or you don’t become a doctor. But talking to friends… it helps.”

Jim looked at the drink in his hand and nodded slowly.

Bones put his glass down with a thud. “Look, Starfleet can stuff this medical section with as many counselors as it likes, but there's nothing mentally wrong with people who are, God forbid, actually horrified at the horrors of war; it's normal, Jim. Just don't bottle it up, that's the key. Good friends who you can be open with, that's better than any therapy session. Being a human being with a heart… that, Jim, is not a mental illness.  
“As the ship’s doctor I now feel obliged, though, to remind you to go book a counseling session if you think you are suffering more than usual following any of our past missions.

They didn’t say much more, or at least Jim didn’t. Bones said a lot, although he didn’t open his mouth. The way he sagged in his chair and looked out at the empty biobeds, at some very specific ones, said more than he could have articulated.

Jim wanted to take that advice, but what was he supposed to say? He, as Captain, was responsible for those deaths. The weight of that would break his back one day, he knew; but not today. He pulled himself up straight, took a deep breath and smoothed out the lines on his forehead, doing such a good job at hiding his emotions that he thought he would’ve made Spock proud. Spock, who, incidentally, Jim had just seen entering sickbay. He now stood at Uhura’s bedside, though Jim couldn’t hear from inside the office what they were talking about.

***

Jim turned and thrashed around in bed; his pillow was too hard, his sheet too heavy. Outside his window the stars streamed by. The Federation was negotiating a meeting with the Klingons, but both the _Excalibur_ and the _Enterprise_ were heading towards Verna VI—they were ‘off the case’.

Pravit was furious. He’d told the admiralty that Jim had given the system to the Klingons, but he’d spun it as a way of Jim surrendering to prevent their ships from being destroyed. In a sense Jim was thankful that Pravit was covering for him like that, it must have cost Pravit quite a bit of self-control not to act on his anger and try to discredit him.

But—that wasn’t why he’d given them the system.

Jim felt nausea rolling over him as the thought tore through his mind. He’d never been motivated by fear of losing his ship, or Pravit’s, and he doubted the “lost” system would stay lost. The planet was so much like Vulcan, even a Klingon could see that it was perfect to become the Vulcan race’s new home-world. At least, he hoped so. The Klingon code of honor… the Klingons would keep a system they had won in a glorious battle—but stealing from the Vulcans? Their honor wouldn’t allow them to keep it.

Jim turned his head on his pillow to look out at the stars. The pill bottle on his nightstand was outlined in dark against the starry sky, the sight beckoning to him. It took a lot of willpower for him to turn around to face the wall. Sleep refused to come.

***

When they arrived at Verna VI, Barrow and Pike called a meeting. Jim hadn’t had to face Pravit in person since the incident on the Klingon ship; it didn’t surprise him that Pravit didn’t shake his hand when he stepped off the transporter pad, nor that Isabaev also shunned him.

That didn’t annoy him. What did anger him, though, was that they were both walking close to Spock, isolating Jim. Spock always walked next to him. Or was it he who sought out Spock and always stood close to him? He wondered. Regardless, now it looked like it was three to one, but Jim knew Spock wasn’t angry with him, and no posturing on Pravit’s part would persuade him to believe otherwise.   
Uhura was in the briefing room when they entered, setting up the link to head quarters. Jim thanked her as she left. Isabaev’s eyes were glued to her. Jim was glad when the doors finally shut behind Uhura, as it made the atmosphere just the slightest bit less awkward.

“Admiral Barrow, Admiral Pike,” Pravit said as their superiors appeared on screen, “it is good to hear from you again.”

Jim said his own greetings but then moved on quickly.

“Gentlemen, may I ask what this is about?”

“The Klingons have gifted the system to the Vulcan people and withdrawn,” Pike said. “They seemed to think it was the honorable thing to do, if you can believe it. Though, if rumors are to be believed, a large number of their leaders ended up dead after that particular council meeting.”

Jim grinned and looked over at Spock. His features were impassive and cold, as always. Still, just seeing Spock made his smile broaden.

“So we can go back and analyze the planet? Will we be able to go to the surface this time?” Jim asked.

Barrow locked eyes with him. “Away teams to the surface will be permitted. Captain Patel, I’m putting you in charge of this mission. You’re to take on fresh supplies before returning to the Huygens system. Captain Kirk, you’ll stay in the Verna system, where your crew will be granted shore leave until you’re redeployed.”

Jim felt his ears burn hot; there was no arguing with such orders, he knew. All of a sudden he didn’t want to look at Spock anymore, so instead he stared at the blank view-screen.

***

Jim strode through the doors of the transporter room wearing civilian clothing. A group was already on the pads, ready to beam down. As he entered he noticed them straightening their posture.

“At ease,” he said, but no one relaxed.

Once they were planet-side, he couldn’t help noticing that his crew all looked like they’d swallowed broomsticks.

“Captain,” a pretty, red-head said. “We’re heading to the bar if you would like to join us for a drink?”

She fumbled with her light jacket with her hands. The others didn’t look very pleased. Well, they didn’t look displeased, but they were all doing a great impression of Commander Spock.

He felt heat rise to his face, so he made a brief excuse and set off in what he hoped was the opposite direction.

She was a mechanic. He did recognize her, but her name just wouldn’t come to his mind. He used to associate with mechanics a fair bit when he was a cadet assigned the same duties; a commander should always know how his ship worked. He’d repaired data substations on the Farragut, until his eyes had bled at just the sight of one, and then he had moved on to other duties—he was training to be an officer, after all.

Up ahead of him he spotted a gaggle of ensigns walking along the street. He turned a corner, ducking into a back alley leading to a busy, open courtyard. Finally, somewhere that looked less savory and clean, not touristy.

“Can I get you anything?” a slender, green waitress asked him.

He realized he’d stopped outside a café. Why not?

“Yes, table for one,” he said.

“You’re on your own? New to this planet? Well, once my shift is over, I can show you around if you’d like.”

He beamed at her. A short time later he had some alien drink in front of him and the waitress kept coming over to check up on him. That’s why he liked the company of women so much, he decided – they were often so much friendlier than men.

Looking around the café, he saw happy-looking couples sitting together inside, and a few people chatting to each other at an outside table. At the table the farthest away from him a man sat on his own, reading a PADD.

“Do you know that man over there?” the waitress asked when she brought him his drink. “He keeps staring at you.”

Jim took the drink from her, glancing over to where the waitress was pointing – the man sitting at the table on his own. The guy was also a human and was shamelessly staring at him. Studying him more thoroughly this time, Jim was sure he didn’t recognize the man.

Well, he wasn’t the kind to just sit there and take it.

He got up and walked over to him. “Can’t a man get a bit of peace and quiet around here?”

He plopped himself down in the seat opposite the man, putting his drink on the table.

“Might I ask who you are?” he continued.

“I’m called Maxime.”

“Jim.”

“I know who you are,” Maxime replied.

“Oh, right.” He shifted uncomfortably on his seat. “I’ve never had anyone recognize me like this before.”

He did know his image had been splashed across the newscasts on Earth, maybe even on the colonies; he didn’t keep track of it, really. But Maxime didn’t get out a dreaded holo-camera; instead he opened a guidebook and asked Jim if he’d seen the sights yet.

Their conversation was quite easy-going, all of it small-talk. Maxime asked him if he was here on vacation or duty and Jim explained about shore leave.

“You don’t want to spend your leave with your crew?”

Jim had just raised his glass to his lips, but he didn’t take a sip. He stared off into the distance. The sun reflected beautifully off a puddle.

He heard a click. It was almost inaudible, but his hearing had focused in on that sound and he trusted his senses’ intuition. In an instant he turned his head back to face Maxime, who froze. A small huff escaped Jim when he saw Maxime’s face.

“Excuse me, I have to go,” he said.

“Wait, please stay,” Maxime begged.

Jim gave him a ‘your game is up’ look. Maxime sighed and his whole body deflated as he leant back into his chair. Jim looked him over, but he didn’t see the holo-camera.

“Just one interview?” Maxime asked.

Jim had no intention of giving him one, but he was curious.

“Can I see your press pass?”

Maxime produced it for him. _Maxime Lessard_ , Chief Editor.

Jim let out a sigh; at least this seemed to be a chance encounter, not some set-up. He turned over the pass: _UE News 24_.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to get in contact with the press office at Starfleet,” he said as politely as he could through gritted teeth.


	8. Chapter 8

Maxime watched Captain Kirk walk away. For a moment he thought he might get up and follow him secretly until he reminded himself that he was not an investigative journalist from one of the holo flicks. But he wanted to be. His press pass was still lying on the table in front of him. He scowled at it—yes, he’d got his promotion, but he was still stuck at _UE News 24_! There was no way he wanted to end up like any of his superiors; people who’d wasted their lives at the station. No, he wanted to make something out of himself.

He stared at the Captain’s half-finished drink on his table. If he wanted to make something out of himself, he would have to be more like Captain Kirk. He needed to take risks. If he didn’t leave the network now, would he ever have the courage to quit his job and go hunting for a really big story? What about his family?

***

Up above, Verna VI’s blue sky had turned a deep shade of purple and the first stars were starting to come out. Jim pushed the planet’s chief of police up against a wall in a small alleyway, leaving her just enough space so that she could move away if she wanted to. In this light her dark green lips looked almost black.

He felt her soft chest against his; it was rising and falling ever faster. A niggling thought occurred to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, backing off a little, “I feel I’m not all too clued in on your people’s culture. Am I being too forward?”

“Not forward enough,” she hissed and pulled him closer.

She moaned into his mouth as they locked lips.

“Take me here, right now,” she growled into his ear.

He nibbled her neck gently, trying to give himself time to think. They were in a public place—and the head of police wanted him to take her here? Was this normal behavior on this planet? Jim felt all the joy of the moment escaping him as the questions raced through his mind.

He slowly kissed his way from her neck down her arm; his lips brushed the back of her hand while he slowly extricated himself from her grip.

“Your hands are very soft,” he murmured and wondered how the hell he’d get himself out of this without offending her and causing an even bigger incident than he risked by obliging her.

Already his head was hurting. He’d never had to sabotage his own date on purpose. He chewed on his lip. _Hell, just throw your pride out of the window and imagine you’re Harvey Curtis from tenth grade._

“Well, I’ve had the most wonderful time tonight,” he said.

She ceased rubbing herself up against him and looked him in the eye.

Jim smiled. “You’re so beautiful.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s no wonder you’re so highly regarded on this planet,” he continued.

She closed her eyes and groaned. “If you’ve changed your mind and I’m not what you’re looking for just spit it out.”

He gulped. “It’s just not my custom to have brief encounters with people I respect highly.”

“And my position as chief of police was not made clear to you when the governor introduced us?”

“Oh, it’s not about position, it’s about an individual’s qualities and their inner beauty. A person’s standing in the world, at least on Earth, is not always an accurate portrayal-.”

“I’m not interested in a boring essay on cultural misunderstandings. Come, I can catch a transport back to my flat from over there.”

Well, he now knew for sure he was good at impersonating a certain annoying high school acquaintance, but he felt neither relief nor triumph at that.

When he saw her off at her transport spot he didn’t feel like it was much of a loss; there was no way she could have satisfied him—well, maybe sexually, possibly intellectually, but certainly not emotionally.

***

Jim was walking back to his quarters when he bumped into Bones.

“You look god-awful,” his friend said. “Get yourself down onto the planet for some shore-leave!”

Jim looked down at his attire and up again at Bones with a raised eyebrow. “Where do you think I’ve just been?”

“Why were you taking shore-leave in your dress uniform?”

“I arranged for a meeting with the governor. I had to wear something fitting.”

“The governor? Is the governor by any chance a beautiful alien lady who just happened to fall for you instantly?”

“No, he isn’t. Though your description does fit Verna’s chief of police.”

“She shoot you down?”

“No,” Jim said and tried to walk past him.

“What happened?” Bones asked, but Jim stepped around him.

He could hear Bones’ footsteps following him.

“Yes?” he snapped, looking back over his shoulder.

“Exactly, this!” Bones replied. “What’s wrong with you?”

He rolled his eyes at Jim. “Fine if you don’t want to talk, but you know where I am if you change your mind.”

***

Jim didn’t feel like going back down to the planet so he downloaded a chapter from a Tri-D chess strategy book onto his PADD and headed for the rec room. He had expected it to be empty and, apart from Chekov who was sitting in a corner reading, there was not another soul in sight.

In no time he’d set up the chess board, and allowed himself to brood over the complex exercises. Two hours later, when he’d solved all the problems and put the pieces back in their box, he looked around the room, finding Chekov still sitting on his own.

Jim got up to leave, but before he reached the exit he turned around. “You alright, Chekov?”

“Yessir.” The reply came fast as lightning. “Perfectly fine. I just don’t feel like going to down to ze planet.”

Jim nodded and left, but his shoulders felt heavier and he studied the floor intently.

“Captain, is everything in order?”

Jim looked up. It was Spock, of course—who else talked like that? Jim smiled in rueful awareness that Spock was asking him the same question he had just asked Chekov five minutes earlier.

“All okay here,” he replied.

Spock gave him a quizzical look.

“During the last mission … for once there was laughter in the ship’s corridors. Now I fear we’re back to square one.”

The Vulcan remained silent.

“Come,” Jim said.

He wasn’t really sure he knew how to talk to Spock about this, or even if he should, especially when it was Spock who had the most reason to be depressed. Walking into his quarters, a bright glint caught his eye. Starlight, streaming in through his window, was reflecting off a small silver picture frame on his shelf. He walked over and picked it up

For a moment he studied his own reflection in the glass—tired. As he tilted the frame his reflection moved out of the way to reveal the details of the photo.

“Spock,” Jim said, and waited until he felt him close the gap to stand at his shoulder.

Jim ran his finger over the face staring back at him. The photo inside the frame was creased and worn at the edges.

“This was the only memento that I took with me when I left home to join Starfleet,” Jim began his narrative.

He’d been seven and it had been an unbearably hot summer’s day, too warm to play outside, so he’d decided to explore the attic. There’d been several old chests of drawers to rummage through, dusty furniture to play on and mountains of cardboard boxes. In one old duffle bag he’d found some great Halloween costumes—a pirate outfit that was far too large for him, a cowboy hat and a plastic gun. Hours of fun had followed up in the attic on his own as he’d acted out the adventures of the daring ‘Captain’ James Tiberius Kirk.

He was standing on the deck of his ship on a crate of fish, face to face with his mortal enemy Captain Dread. Waving his sword around he demanded that Dread surrender.

As he jumped off his crate, the cardboard box he’d been standing on tipped over, spilling its contents all over the ancient floorboards. Jim put the barbeque fork he was holding aside, then knelt down to gather up all the junk so he could put it back where it belonged. There was a small white blanket, a blue comb, a pair of old-fashioned sunglasses, a bottle of aftershave, some guitar picks, a metal box and a shirt.

He picked up the shirt and stood. As he held it spread wide between his arms to refold it, the light from one of the small attic windows shone through the black fabric. Just under his right hand there was a dark patch that blocked out the light.

Lifting the shirt up higher he saw the outline of a small dark-gray insignia there—a Starfleet insignia. For a while Jim didn’t move a muscle. As he folded the shirt up and placed it back in its place he blinked away a tear.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there just staring at the box and its contents. Finally he reached for the metal box.

“Jimmy!”

He dropped it.

“Dinner time, get down here right now!”

He breathed in heavily and looked down. The box hadn’t opened. His eyes darted to the trap door and he could already hear his mother’s footsteps in the hallway below. With slightly shaking hands he grabbed the box, the smooth metal feeling cold to his touch.

“Jimmy, come down!”

Quickly, he opened it—inside were photos. He grabbed the first photo and stuffed it in his pocket, before placing the metal box on top of the shirt. Then he threw himself towards the other side of the attic.

His mother had climbed up a few rungs of the ladder. “What was that noise? What’re you doing?”

“Nothing,” he replied and reached for the barbeque fork.

“Give that to me, you shouldn’t be playing with that,” she said.

He handed it to her and came down without a fuss. Sitting through dinner was torture. All he wanted to do was to leave the table and look at the photo in his pocket.

The same photo he was holding right now, which as a boy and later a teenager he’d carried around with him at all times in some jacket or trouser pocket.

“Your father?”

The photo showed a man in his late twenties wearing relaxed clothing and a pair of aviator sunglasses; he was sitting on the hood of a classic red sports car. Jim nodded.

“My mother blamed herself for surviving when my father died. I saw what it did to her and I know what it did to me. It’s not logical, Spock, but as I grew up I felt more and more guilty that I was alive when he wasn’t. Maybe I was picking up on my mother’s feelings, but all the same, that’s how I felt.”

He placed the photo back on the shelf, the flash of reflection from the glass showing Spock’s hand just above his shoulder—a heartbeat later he felt it; gently Spock coaxed him to turn around.

“You realize your own worth now?”

Jim smiled. “Of course.”

But in Spock’s appraising gaze he saw … concern? Spock was still holding onto his shoulder firmly, but Jim didn’t mind, he found that, on the contrary, he didn’t want Spock to loosen his grip.

“You are, however, worried about some members of the crew,” Spock said eventually.

“I saw Chekov in the rec room earlier. We need to get out of this system, we need to be out there doing some good, to give everyone a chance to understand how important and useful they are.”

“Agreed,” Spock replied.

Jim met his even gaze and lifted his right hand up to cover the hand on his shoulder giving it a gentle squeeze. They needed another mission, for the crew, their Captain and, most importantly, for Spock.

***

Jim was alone in the briefing room, turning his PADD in his hands. Slowly the senior staff started trickling in. Jim forced himself to stand behind his chair and held onto it with one hand to stop himself from pacing.

When Spock entered the room, Jim found he couldn’t focus on anything apart from the Vulcan. He looked, well, not happy, but at least he looked rested. Jim started fumbling with the PADD in his hands again. He hated delivering bad news to Spock; it was not something he wanted to become a habit. He regarded Spock’s face, unable to suppress the memory of the stone faced look Spock had worn when he’d informed him of the inquiry’s verdict regarding his former relationship with Uhura.

“Right.” Jim coughed politely to get everyone’s attention.

Then he straightened and continued in a strong voice, “I’ve just received the latest update from Starfleet. The _USS Excalibur_ was investigating the planet HUY-98-6 for its suitability for Vulcan colonization. Unfortunately—.” Jim paused, swallowing, then continued.

He watched Spock’s face, wondering if the Vulcan’s stoic expression would waver.

“—in the final report the planet was found to be unsuitable for colonization.”

Spock’s expression didn’t change a bit. Jim knew he cared, though. He wasn’t going to forget the mind meld with his older counterpart anytime soon. He wished he could read Spock, to know what he was feeling.

“There are still some issues with the Klingons. The Federation Council feels that in the current climate it would be irresponsible to settle the Vulcans there.”

He wanted to say more. Wanted to say ‘sorry’ to Spock. The planet had sounded perfect. Not an exact copy of Vulcan, but as close as any of the planets so far investigated by Starfleet had come – harsh desert climate, no moons, a powerful sun … . Jim spun around and activated the view screen. He’d talk to Spock later, maybe drop by his quarters to tell him in private how sorry he was.

“There are still many unexplored planets that might be suitable, of course.” Silence was the only reaction he got from his staff at this announcement.

He pulled a star chart up onto the screen.

“Over here in this relatively unexplored patch of space, far from the Klingon border,” he said, zooming in on one area, “is the Calder star system. Calder IV, also known as Saketh, is around the same mass as Earth, class M from what we can tell and apparently a very hot contender.”

He turned around. Everyone was looking at the map, apart from Spock, who was staring right at him.

“Of course, it’s also really far away from the centre of Federation territory,” he went on, glancing back at the map. “Orion pirates may be running some operations in that area, though we don’t really have much intelligence to back that up.”

Now all eyes were on him again. “Our orders are to proceed there. It will take us a while to get there, especially since we’re to keep a look out for any more planets that might be suitable. There’s a lot we don’t know about that sector of space.”

Spock nodded.

Jim felt his shoulders relax. Finally a reaction! He hadn’t realized just how tense he’d been. Hopefully it hadn’t been too visible, not really caring if it was. Everyone here understood what this meant to their Vulcan.


	9. Chapter 9

“Course to Saketh set again, Captain,” Sulu said. 

“Warp three ahead, Mr Sulu,” Jim replied getting up from the captain’s chair. “You have the con.”

He had to update their mission logs, then call Pike. An interesting solar system had taken them off course. One of the planets there, only five hundred kilometers in diameter, was spewing out ice and hydrocarbons despite its circular orbit. The data they’d taken would keep the Astrophysics department happy for some time. They still hadn’t encountered any suitable planets, which was bad. That’s the first thing he’d have to tell Pike. On the upside, they’d avoided running into pirates, which was good. 

He didn’t record his personal views in the mission report, nor did he share them with Pike, but they were keeping him up most nights. How perfect would the planet have to be for the Vulcans to want to found a colony all the way out in the Calder system, in an utterly lawless part of the galaxy? 

Once they were there, in just under a week’s time, maybe he could sleep then. Maybe Bones would stop nagging him to get more rest, which the doctor had been doing daily for the past month of their meandering journey to Saketh.

***

As they decelerated into Saketh’s gravitational field, the planet abruptly swung into view on the main screen.

They had done a preliminary analysis using the long range sensors, so what they saw wasn’t a surprise—a blue and white planet spun beneath them, looking quite a bit like Earth and not even a tiny bit like Vulcan. Jim’s breath caught in his throat. There was silence on the bridge. 

He stood up and glanced around the bridge. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the planet except Spock’s. He wondered what was going through the Vulcan’s mind. Was he thinking of all the logical, clinical arguments in favor of this place? That it was a rare, natural, class M planet—one that didn’t need climate control or terraforming, that was essentially in ‘move onto’ condition? 

“Lieutenant Sulu,” Jim said, “put us into a low orbit and map out a pattern that will allow us to scan the whole surface.”

Spock still didn’t look up from the controls at the science station. Jim didn’t blame him. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must be to look upon the planet that was supposed to replace your home. As if anything ever could replace it, let alone this… water-world. 

“I want to check out the surface. It’s safe to beam down, isn’t it?”

Spock turned to face him. “Affirmative, Captain. The air is non-toxic and as there are no continents, only islands and archipelago, no large native life forms are to be expected. 

“Verify that, Mr. Spock. I don’t care to end up as some predator’s lunch.”

“Yes sir. There are also a large number of thunderstorms, which we should avoid.”

They’d come all the way for this? Which mad astronomer had sent them out here? Whose twisted idea had it been?

He wanted to throw his hands up in the air in frustration; he bit down hard on his bottom lip instead. 

“Just… try and find somewhere on one of the larger islands, somewhere that looks vaguely inhabitable to you.”

***

The landing party materialized on a narrow beach in a small estuary; it was high tide. In the distance the dark blue of the ocean was visible, under a white sky. A breeze cooled Jim’s skin and rustled the leaves of the trees.

Around him, tricorders were beeping. He stepped up behind Spock to check the readings over his shoulder. Spock didn’t pay him any attention—Jim cleared his throat, but without interruption the Vulcan’s pale, slender fingers whizzed across the controls, adjusting them frantically. Just as Jim decided to step around to face him, Spock looked up. 

“Spock, what do—.” Jim cut himself off when his first officer, ignoring his very existence, walked off towards some blue flowers. Some of the away team had stopped what they were doing to watch.

“What on Earth, Jim?” Bones said, walking up to him.

Jim looked at his friend. “Search me.” 

All away-team members were staring at their captain now. Jim motioned to Bones to follow him up the beach. 

“Hey Spock, what’s up?” 

Jim needed Spock to co-ordinate the survey team, but he knew his first officer well enough by now to know that it must be something pretty ‘fascinating’ to distract him so completely. 

When he received no reply he asked in a louder, clearer voice, “Commander? If you’d enlighten us on what has caught your attention?” 

Although Spock’s behavior was uncharacteristic and therefore a little worrying, in light of their mission, it was more than a little funny to see him take off because he was so spellbound by a flower, of all things. He had to work hard to suppress a grin that was trying to sneak onto his face. 

Those thoughts flew out of his mind, though, when he saw Spock’s expression. It was so … _open_. Then it was gone again, and maybe he had just imagined it. Yes, almost certainly. He knew Spock suppressed his emotions and only massive events could change that. He felt himself shiver. It was damned cold on this planet, actually. 

Spock turned to Jim but also looked around to make sure the rest of the hesitant science team, who’d slowly made their way towards them, were paying attention, too. 

“This flower”, he said quietly, then took another breath and replied in a cold, even tone, “it is almost identical to a desert flower that used to grow on Vulcan. This flower is of a different variety and far larger, no doubt an adaptation to this planet’s environment. My initial analysis positively places the plant’s genetic ancestry as coming from the planet Vulcan.” 

Jim met Spock’s eyes. “Commander, I want you to adjust our survey of the planet. I want everyone to scan for signs of Vulcan fauna and flora and to take back plant specimens for further research. If someone makes such a positive identification I want to know immediately.”

Spock nodded and started briefing the science team. Jim stepped to one side and Bones followed him. 

“We’ve come across Earth vegetation in the most unlikely places before,” Jim said.

He knew from history books that enthusiastic settlers had brought a lot of plant and animal life into space with them before the human race had managed to organize and document its colonists. Adding to that, humanity was still looking in awe upon the newly erected pyramid of Giza when Vulcans first started exploring space; they’d had thousands of years to spread their plants throughout the galaxy.

Bones nodded. “It’s not really such a surprise, eh? But it’s a good omen none the less, don’t you think?”

Jim sighed. “Heaven knows we need to find some positives.” 

The party dispersed to take readings and collect samples. They were now just a bit further inland, in a small valley that had been hidden from the beach by trees. He sent Bones off with Ensign Kim, while he teamed up with Spock. He wanted to find out what Spock had to say on this particular matter. But before he could speak, he heard shouting from Ensign Kim. 

“Found something, Captain!”

Spock and Jim hurried over. Kim was standing near what appeared to be an enormous rhubarb plant with thin, emerald flowers. 

Jim noticed Spock had become distracted—again—and was taking a reading of a tree they had just passed. 

Jim bent down next to Kim, who showed him the readout; it seemed the rhubarb-like plant was Vulcan too. 

“This tree also appears to be of Vulcan origin, although I have never seen anything like it on Vulcan myself,” Spock said as he joined them. 

Kim handed her tricorder to her superior. Spock looked at the giant rhubarb. He cocked his head sideways. 

“Fascinating.”. 

Although someone who’d only just met Spock might think he was mildly interested at best, to everyone who knew him, the excitement was unmistakable. And his mood was highly infectious. Jim didn’t want to get his hopes up about this place, but hell, if Spock was excited… this was far better than what he’d expected to find down here. These were plants that for all he knew were thought to be extinct! 

“It would appear many of these plants are ones that are edible to Vulcans,” Spock said, touching one of the large leaves carefully. “These would appear to be derived from crops that are common on Vulcan.”

Jim’s heart missed a beat. There was an uncomfortable silence as Spock’s slip of the tongue hung in the air. He couldn’t recall a time Spock had accidentally said anything like that before. It wasn’t like Spock at all, to make such a slip-up in language, to confuse present with past tenses.

He didn’t want to meet Spock’s eyes, but he forced himself to anyway, as Spock looked towards him. 

But Spock had seemingly recovered more quickly than he had. “The plants seem to have adapted in many ways to the local climate. Their leaves are approximately one hundred times larger than any similar plants I observed on Vulcan.”

Jim’s communicator beeped. “Kirk here.”

Reports of Vulcan plant life were coming in from almost every away-team member. Only one report was about something else; Lieutenant Gaal had been unable to fully describe to him in words his findings and so he’d urged his captain to take a look himself. Jim was curious and had told him he’d be with him in a minute. He’d sent Bones on ahead.

That had been five minutes ago. 

“Spock?”

“We should finish our analysis here first,” he replied. “Ensign Kim, if you would collect some samples… .”

Kirk tapped his foot on the soft ground. He wanted to leave, and under other circumstances he would have gone on ahead and ordered Spock to come with him. But it wasn’t an emergency and there was no danger to anyone apart from himself (he might burst with curiosity), so he let Spock go about his work. It was meticulous. 

Finally Spock and Kim got up. 

“Let’s go,” Jim said and set off at a brisk pace, leaving them to catch up with him. 

The valley was relatively level, although Jim could see that they were nearing the end of it and soon they would have to climb the hill ahead. They found Bones standing with the rest of the landing party between some of the massive rhubarb plants and some gigantic flowery bushes. As Jim looked around he noticed that they were standing in a clearing of sorts. Large leafy plants shaded the ground, but there were no trees growing here. The long clearing led all the way up the valley in a straight line ending near the crest of the hill. It looked too straight to be natural. 

“Report.” 

“There seems to be a structure under us, under this ‘road’,” Lieutenant Gaal answered. “Part local stone, part metal alloy. The structure extends for at least twenty meters into the ground; too far for the tree’s roots to penetrate. And it is too close to the surface to allow the large trees much earth to grow on. This is only a guess, since we need to study the geology with more than a tricorder but I’d say this structure was once raised well above the ground.”

Jim’s eyes sought out the edges of the clearing, and indeed, the area was still slightly raised compared to the surrounding land. 

“That would explain why it hasn’t yet been covered over with earth for trees to grow on even though we’re at the lowest point of the valley,” Jim said. “Age?”

“I cannot date it exactly, not without a reference point, Captain.” The lieutenant sighed. 

Everyone turned to look at Spock. It seemed as if Spock’s approval was necessary for everyone to trust the lieutenant—as if his analysis was faulty by default, and Spock’s was the ultimate answer. The thought that his crew saw Spock as the only one capable of wielding a tricorder didn’t feel right to him. 

Spock gave his own tricorder a cursory glance, but it looked as if he hadn’t been able to extract any more from his device’s data than the lieutenant already had. 

“Let’s follow the path,” Jim ordered. “It doesn’t look like anyone has been here in a very long time.” 

So they trekked through the clearing. The hill was getting closer.

“Look, Commander,” Kim said from up ahead. 

When Jim thrust a table-size leaf out of his way he was able to get a clear view of the path ahead. Or more precisely of the end of the path, which had led them all to a sheer rock face—some kind of granite rock by the looks of things. Rather anticlimactic. He walked over to where Kim and Spock were standing. 

The rock was covered in a velvety moss with a few small flowers also trying to grow on it. When neither of them paid him any attention he took out his own tricorder. The moss was native, the rock was indeed some kind of granite, but apart from that … what scanner settings were they using?

He looked up from his instrument to see Spock touching the moss. Then Spock dug his fingers into it and started to strip it away. He took away a large section of the vegetation and then cleaned the rock face of dirt with his bare hands. His milky fingertips were dark and wet and soon his whole hand glistened in the dappled light. 

Jim didn’t know why Spock was doing this, but he joined in. That’s when he felt it. There was something beneath the moss. Something was carved into the stone. At length they both stepped back to survey their work. They had uncovered several symbols. 

“Spock, the origin of this writing?” he asked.

“It is Vulcan.”

Jim sat down on the ground, feeling too giddy to stand. A broad grin was plastered across his face.

Who would have thought it? All the way out here—Vulcan ruins! He wanted to hug Spock. He doubted Spock would let him though, not this version at least. Maybe his older counterpart would have, though if he did, it would probably be as part of a plot to influence the history of this timeline somehow. 

Suddenly Jim had a very clear picture of who’d put this planet on the list—who was responsible for them being sent to this godforsaken place. This godforsaken place that had Vulcan ruins on it! It was no doubt Spock, old Spock! He laughed out loud and couldn’t stop.


	10. Chapter 10

Jim hadn’t had a break since they’d discovered the ruins. He and Spock had stayed on the planet, even when night had fallen. Away-teams were still busy at work, unearthing yet more Vulcan history, but Jim had finally handed over command of the teams to Sulu as he’d decided they both needed some rest. They sat on the ground with their backs against the granite rock face on which they had found the first inscriptions, simply looking up at the stars in silence, at last able to gather their thoughts. The sky was starting to lighten as dawn approached.

Spock was the first to break their reverie. “In the decade before the Awakening, when Surak laid down the scriptures of logic, many colonies were abandoned or destroyed when civil war tore the Vulcan Empire apart. It was an atomic war of unparalleled brutality—billions died, whole colonies obliterated … a lot of history was lost. After the war, those colonists who survived found their worlds marred by radiation and fallout or raided by those who had been exiled for refusing to embrace logic; records of the time were understandably poor, but it was thought all survivors came to live on Vulcan—or Romulus.”

The starlight was not bright, but Spock’s white skin stood out in sharp contrast to the dark stone. His face was the perfect picture of tranquility. Even though Jim had seen him angry, it was still hard to imagine Vulcans being anything but peaceful people.

“What do you think happened to this place?” Jim said.

“There are no traces of radiation, though it does seem the population of this world was decimated around the time of the civil war. The colony was obviously not entirely abandoned though; at least a few must have remained since the most recent inscriptions are only one thousand years old. Further, they prove that the colonists had adopted a life based on rational thought. It is not clear from what we have unearthed so far whether or not they stayed in contact with Vulcan, but I do not believe that they did, as I never read of this place in any history books.”

Jim looked away from Spock and back up at the sky. The stars were slowly disappearing as a blanket of grey was draped across the firmament. They had discovered so many beautiful structures, exposing layers of history spanning thousands of years, buried under just a foot of earth. Saketh lacked the grandeur of Vulcan’s endless red desert and its awe-inspiring rock formations; but this world, this very landscape, had been shaped by Vulcans for thousands of years. 

“At one time this was a large colony,” Spock said. “Up to a hundred million may have inhabited Saketh.”

Crumbling cities Vulcans had once lived and died in were testament to that. The work that would be required to restore any settlement here may be far greater than to build a new one from scratch, but psychologically … it would surely be invaluable to these people. 

When Jim next looked over at Spock his face was bathed in a golden glow. The sunrise was painting the wisps of cloud above them in bold shades of pink and orange. It was a new dawn. Spock turned towards him and their eyes met.

Spock’s face was open, his soul laid out bare for Jim to see. The tight lines around his mouth spoke of all the hurt and anguish at losing his home, but the smooth brow and his bright eyes of the determination to carry on, to continue to live and love.

This was a moment Spock wanted to share with him. 

Something inside his heart moved then. He’d never felt this close to anyone before, he loved Spock more than even his own brother. This closeness that he enjoyed with Spock—it meant more to him than he’d ever care to admit to anyone.

“For the first time since … .” Spock didn’t finish the sentence. 

Jim shifted closer so that their bodies were touching and placed a hand on Spock’s shoulder. Some events were too traumatic to ever be discussed. Jim understood that and nodded. 

They sat like that, leaning on one another, until the sun had risen well above the horizon. In front to them, meanwhile, amongst the thick moss on the stone ground a tiny plant slowly unfolded its blue petals. It was the same type of plant that Spock had first analyzed, except far smaller. There couldn’t possibly be enough soil up here for it to grow properly.

Jim stood up; it was time to beam back up to the ship. 

“It belongs in the valley,” he said looking down at the plant once more. 

“Indeed. It will not survive here.” 

Spock retrieved a sample beaker and knelt down in front of it. “I will take this specimen back to the ship for further study.”

***

Jim was leaning against a tree studying the latest geological report.

“Your big-headed elf has developed something of a one track mind,” Bones told him. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Last week he had Sulu do an extra five shuttle fly-bys of some mountain range—five! The poor guy was exhausted after all that and then, without even a word of thanks, he asked him to reschedule the botany expedition for today, and co-ordinate a whole week’s worth of shuttle missions to various other sites around the planet instead. We needed those results from the botanists for analysis in medical—I had to come down and take samples myself.  
“I’m worried Spock’s losing perspective; he’s spending too much time here in the ruins. I think he needs a break from this mission.”

“What would you like me to do about it? Confine him to his quarters? Don’t be ridiculous, Bones,” Jim said. 

“Oh that’s what you think of my opinion—it’s ridiculous now, is it? Jim, sometimes … .” Bones sighed. “Look, Captain, it is my professional opinion as your Chief Medical Officer that Commander Spock needs to be taken off this mission for a while.”

Jim didn’t look up from the report he was studying. “So far I’ve found no reason to pull him off the project.” 

“Fine, but I’m going to make a note in my logs that I told you and you overruled me.” 

Jim snapped his head up to meet the Doctor’s eyes. “Whoa there, calm down, Bones! Obviously Spock is very involved with this mission. But I’ve been keeping an eye on him.”

“You just make sure you keep a very good eye on him.” Bones grunted and walked off, leaving Jim alone with the report.

Spock had become a bit obsessive, it was true … one thing in particular that Spock would not let go of was his insistence that there would be vast underground complexes. Jim had been very happy to indulge and even encourage Spock’s preoccupation with this—all the buildings they had uncovered so far, as beautiful as they were, had been damaged by the elements. The prospect of being able to explore intact underground tunnels and rooms excited him. 

His communicator beeped. 

“Kirk here.”

“Captain,” Sulu said, “Commander Spock’s found the entrance to an underground city.”

“Great. When can we expect to send the first teams in?”

Sulu sighed. “That’s why I’m calling you, sir. We could pull everyone off the other projects immediately, and I understand this is an exciting discovery. However, it’s my duty to advise you that would be a terribly inefficient way to proceed. My recommendation would be that we wait until tomorrow to send in teams.” 

“Lieutenant, where is the Commander?”

“He’s here, sir, discussing some details with Mr. Scott. I just thought that it would be best to ask you for your input on this.”

“Commander Spock wants to go in now, doesn’t he?”

“I presume so. He has not given any order yet. Sir, may I remind you that most projects down here involve delicate tests that must run for hours. They’ll have to be set up and redone from scratch if we stop them now.”

“I’ll talk to him, but I want to make one thing clear, Lieutenant. If Commander Spock decides that it is necessary for him to pull everyone, including yourself, off your projects to work on a new one, you do just that, understood?”

“Yes, sir. Perfectly.” Sulu terminated the connection.

Jim chewed on his lip as he mulled over the situation. Finally he decided it would be best if he went over to talk to both of them in person. 

When he arrived he found all three deep in conversation. 

“So, what’s the situation?” 

“We have secured the opening to a passageway leading into the side of this mountain,” Spock said. 

“Aye, very solidly built!” Scotty said. “Structure of the tunnels seems sound as far as our scanners can make out.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “They were built by Vulcans, Mr. Scott.”

Jim had to suppress a grin; his heart also started beating faster. 

He turned to the third member of the party. “Mr. Sulu?”

“Sir, the tunnels would be safe to explore now,” he answered.

The unspoken ‘but’ at the end of the sentence hung in the air between them. Everyone was now staring at Jim, as the grin he could no longer keep in check started to spread across his face. Scotty and Sulu started to shuffle their feet. 

“Well,” Jim said, “as I understand it, there is no hurry to explore this underground city-.”

“Captain-,” Spock interrupted. 

“Ah!” Jim said, holding up a placating hand, “let me finish. Our research teams are currently busy elsewhere on the planet. However, I am about to go off duty and wouldn’t mind having a sneak preview. How about you, Commander Spock?”

Spock nodded tersely. 

And so it was agreed and Jim and Spock hurriedly grabbed a few essentials.

“I’ve downloaded a map onto yer tricorders showing just how far ye can stray. I wouldn’t advise going in any further than that – ye’d be out of communication range for one and secondly our scanners weren’t able to get a clear picture much deeper into the rock, so yer’ll run out of map,” Scotty said.

“Thanks! I’ll call in for an update in an hour,” Jim called back over his shoulder at Sulu and Scotty as he stepped through the entrance into the dark beyond. 

The unnatural light of his flashlight illuminated the black marble walls of the passageway. The black walls glistened with moisture. Underfoot, mud squelched with an eerie noise that was swallowed up by the clammy air. His breath turned into a white mist that preceded him as they walked on, while Spock’s breath … didn’t. Was it due to his adjustable body temperature or was it an alien adaptation to desert life to conserve water? How cold this place must have felt to the Vulcans who’d once lived here … . It occurred to Jim that this place might not have seen any light in over a thousand years. He turned towards Spock, who’d yet to take out his tricorder. 

“I know this may sound odd,” Jim said, “but I feel like I’m disturbing an ancient tomb.”

Spock’s face remained impassive. “This part of the complex is not a tomb, Captain.”

“This part?”

Spock didn’t answer, but quickened his pace as they neared the end of the passage, which appeared to be a dead end.

“Time to consult the map!” Jim said, whipping out his tricorder. 

Before he had even loaded the map, though, Spock indicated that he knew the way. 

“Oh!” Jim exclaimed, looking up.

Above him, the black of the low ceiling had become even darker. None of the light was reflected from above anymore; it was all swallowed completely. He walked up to the wall and ran a hand up it until his arm was almost fully extended—then he reached an edge.

The map on his tricorder showed a large room directly above them, which he scanned for unusual contraptions, deadly animals and the like—none. It appeared to be safe.

“I should be able to pull myself up,” he said. 

He passed his flashlight to Spock. It wasn’t easy on his arm muscles, since the marble didn’t offer much in the way of grip for his feet, but he was able to lift himself up and out of the passageway. 

The cold was the first thing to hit him. It made the skin on his face stretch uncomfortably and his fingers were freezing where they were in contact with the smooth, hard floor. 

“Spock, the lights!” 

Down below, Spock held them both up for him to take. Before he could get back down onto one knee to offer Spock any assistance, his friend was already lifting himself up. 

Jim couldn’t tear his eyes away from the display of super-human strength in front of him. Odd feelings were churning through him. He felt at once threatened—that reaction he was used to—but also, in a very weird way, he felt reassured. 

Spock got to his feet and stood by his side. It was no wonder the room had swallowed all the light. The walls were so distant that even now their powerful flashlights barely illuminated the ceiling or the walls. To think that this place, once an important entrance hall, now lay in disrepair, its architects long dead and forgotten, gave him goosebumps as it cast a light on the insignificance of his own existence. 

“An odd entrance to a city,” Jim said, turning to Spock.

“An easily defensible entrance,” Spock countered. 

Jim felt his insides twist, the picture of the welcoming entrance hall replaced with one filled with guards and cold steel—a reminder that Vulcans were just a step away from being murderous Romulans. He took out his tricorder, the mechanical hum and familiar beeping a cold comfort as he scanned the room. There were a number of exits and he was only too glad to follow Spock towards one of them.


	11. Chapter 11

They left the entrance chamber through a small tunnel at the far wall. It was so tight they could no longer walk abreast. Spock took the lead and Jim didn’t protest; he stayed as close as he could to Spock.

“The floor here is particularly uneven,” Spock said and slowed his pace.

Jim soon discovered what the problem was—before, the tunnel floor had gently been sloping downwards, but now it turned into a steep flight of crumbling stairs. About ten minutes of slipping and sliding on the decaying wet steps found them at the base of the stairs and at the end of the tunnel. 

“What do you suppose this room used to be used for?” Jim said and took a step out of the tunnel. 

A step was really all he could take. 

He was standing on a narrow ledge above the wide hole where the room’s floor should have been. Looking up, he saw that although this room was nowhere near as large as the entrance chamber, the ceiling was all the higher. Way up overhead he could make out a crack through which some light fought to gain entrance. 

They both scanned the area with their lights.

“I do not know what this room’s use may once have been,” Spock said. 

“The pit doesn’t seem to be too deep, just there,” Jim said. “I think a lot of earth must’ve fallen through from above.”

Spock walked over to the spot Jim had indicated. “The earth slopes away steeply, although here it looks to be no more than one point five meters deep.” 

He let himself down into the pit. The ledge they were standing on came up to Spock’s chest and Jim followed him down. 

They stood side by side, hugging the wall, not wanting to risk walking on such steep ground until they were sure it was safe. After a few minutes Jim was happy that they had scanned the whole pit thoroughly. His map showed the entrance to a tunnel, approximately three meters to their left, two to their right … and two point five meters below them.

“Down there.” Jim pointed down the slope to the darkest corner of the pit. 

Spock nodded. “The opening is small, but I think it will be sufficient.” 

Describing it as a tight squeeze would have been an understatement; they had to get down on their hands and knees to get through the mud into the passageway. Beyond the passageway, it was just as silted up as the pit was. There was no option but to crawl the whole way. It was claustrophobic and hard to see anything up ahead – luckily it was a far shorter passage than the previous one. It seemed like a long time, but Jim was aware that it had most likely only been a couple of meters at most, before the ceiling opened up above them, similar to the city’s entrance. 

“The second line of defense?” Jim asked while they helped each other up.

Spock raised an eyebrow at that. “That is a possible theory.”

Jim was good with people. He was hardly ever wrong when it came to interpreting humans, but aliens were another matter entirely. He was never too sure whether what he read into Spock’s minute cues was just wishful thinking, some sort of projection, or whether he could actually trust his instincts. Right now he was sure Spock was ribbing him, but he’d feel stupid if he acted on that instinct and it turned out to be wrong. He realized he’d been staring at Spock, so he quickly lowered his gaze and directed his flashlight at himself to find a less dirty patch of his shirt to wipe his mud-covered hands on. When he looked up he let out a gasp. 

Spock turned around instantly. “Captain, is anything the matter?”

Jim walked up to Spock, ignoring what was this time an obvious jibe.

“Are those frescos of… ? Those are Vulcans, right? Uh, yeah, don’t answer that, I can see the pointy ears on that guy as he’s… going down on that other… guy.”

In the glow from the flashlight, Jim could see even more frescos now. Male and female Vulcans in all imaginable pairings (and other groupings) and… was that an animal of some kind?

“They’re all very detailed, and uh … graphic, aren’t they?”

“Similar frescos were not uncommon in public places on Vulcan before the Awakening.”

“Really? Even ones like this one with that anim-?”

Spock didn’t let him finish the sentence. “Occasionally colonies far from the home planet can fall on hard times due to unforeseen events. Societies can even briefly revert back to barbarism.”

The muscles in Jim’s back, and especially around his neck and jaw tensed. He nodded vigorously enough so Spock would see in the low light. When Spock didn’t continue he relaxed again. 

“The more I look at these frescos,” Jim said once his thoughts had returned from his past to the present, “the more they remind me of ancient Greece and Rome. Not the style, just the content, mind you.”

They left the chamber and headed downwards again. The corridors seemed more modern here, the walls not lined with frescoes; instead different types of stones were carefully set into them, forming scenes of life on this planet—and on Vulcan? Jim stopped. 

“This story looks like it’s set in a desert,” he said. “Is this meant to be Vulcan? What’s it about?”

Spock ran his fingers over the stones. “Infanticide.”

Jim’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“My homeworld was harsh, Captain—an unforgiving desert planet with few resources. Weakness, whether emotional, intellectual or physical, has never been tolerated by Vulcans. Advanced genetic screening made infanticide a thing of the past, but still many children died each year in ritualistic ability tests.”

Jim looked at the scene again, and yes, now he could see the infant, wrapped in a blanket, placed directly under the sun. 

“That’s barbaric.” The words left his mouth before he could stop himself. 

Well, interspecies ethics lessons be damned—he was shocked. Spock had raised an eyebrow at him ever so slightly. 

“Do you think they did the same here on Saketh?” Jim asked in a quiet voice. 

Hell, as a Vulcan, Spock probably shared such views about killing off the weak; it certainly fit with the impatience he occasionally showed towards some of the junior members of the science department. Jim decided then he didn’t want to know about these ability tests, or he might end up having a ‘logical’ debate on morals with Spock. 

“The depiction of this scene is merely to educate. It is not unreasonable to assume that they would have had their own thoughts on the issue.”

“Differences in opinion? Even after the Awakening, or only before?”

Spock raised an eyebrow at him. “Even after. Cultures and their moral points of view are shaped by their landscapes—Saketh is friendlier to life than Vulcan was.”

Jim wondered how growing up on the vast flat plains of the American Midwest, amongst people who’d also grown up there, generation after generation, had shaped him. Although the roots of his culture lay further east, of course. He found he couldn’t really get his head around it. 

After they’d set off again, his thoughts turned to Spock and the kind of childhood he might have had; in all three of the categories of weakness he’d mentioned humans fared badly in comparison to Vulcans… and Spock was half-human, even if it seemed to most that his human side was repressed. 

“Um… Spock? Why did you join Starfleet instead of staying on Vulcan?”

He didn’t receive a reply. Jim’s imagination conjured up images of a small Vulcan boy at school, standing all alone in a corner, shunned by classmates; working harder than everyone else on an assignment until late into the night, simply to prove himself to a teacher who expected him to fail; schooling himself not to show any sign of ‘weakness’, any sign of being at all like his mother; and all Jim wanted to do was grab Spock and shake him, tell him how wrong they’d all been. 

The sheer number of passages and rooms to explore was astounding and now that there didn’t seem to be any more crawling involved Jim was enjoying himself thoroughly, especially when he thought back to the fresco-chamber. He’d been too shocked to appreciate the potential to poke fun at Spock. He wouldn’t make the same mistake on the way back. Speaking of which, it was time he checked in with Scotty. 

“So how’re things down the mine shaft?” Scotty asked.

“There really is a whole labyrinth down here,” Jim answered, “and so much is preserved! Some pretty risqué frescos you might appreciate.”

Scotty chuckled. “Glad you two are having fun playing Viggo Smith! I’m calling ‘cause there’s a mean looking weather front that might be heading this way.”

“Okay, keep an eye on it for me and let us know if we need to start turning ‘round. Kirk out.”

“Viggo Smith?” Spock asked when the channel was closed. 

“Oh, just a kid’s action adventure series that was on when I was a boy. The hero, Viggo, spends most of his time fighting off mummies in Earth’s pyramids or battling Orion Pirates who are raiding archaeological digs across the sector. Which I always thought was slightly ironic, since he spends the rest of his time raiding ancient tombs himself.”

He turned to Spock, a wistful smile on his face. “I take it this part isn’t a tomb either?”

“No, but I think we are getting closer.”

“Closer? To a tomb?”

“Not exactly,” Spock replied and Jim wanted to press for more, but he missed his footing on some lose pebbles.

Spock was quick to react and grabbed him under the arms to stop him falling. 

“Thanks,” Jim said once he was standing unsupported again. 

He had dropped his flashlight , but the light from Spock’s was enough for him to quickly locate his own. 

“Ah,” he said, shaking it. “Seems to be broken. You don’t think we’ve explored enough for one day? We can come back tomorrow.”

“We still have my light, which should be sufficient illumination.”

Jim folded his arms across his chest. “Is there anything specific you’re looking for? A tomb perhaps?”

“Not exactly.”

“You already said that. So what then?”

“The colony’s Katric ark.”

At the time of Vulcan’s destruction Jim hadn’t known that was where the Vulcan high council had been, but he’d heard it later in numerous retellings of the day’s events. But he was unsure exactly what the Katric ark was. The descriptions had been very sketchy—what he did know was that it had been deep in a mountain, where no transporter or communication signal could reach.

“Spock, I can’t say that I understand, because obviously I don’t. But what I do know is that I don’t like the sound of us looking for this ark on our own. Not when there’s a storm coming.”

He tried to read Spock’s features, but as Spock was holding the light, they were hard to make out. When Spock didn’t reply, he moved closer. 

“Captain, it should not take us long to retrace our steps—we have ample time to explore a bit further before we are forced to return to the surface.”

Jim checked his tricorder map. They were still within communication range, though he was sure that they’d found themselves out of transporter range almost the minute they’d entered the mountain. 

“Ok,” he conceded. 

They walked further into the maze, Jim keeping his tricorder on to check Scotty’s map regularly. Another passageway, they turned a corner, and through a tunnel … when he looked at the map once more they were getting close to the end of communication range. At that moment Scotty called them.

“Captain,” he said, “Ye should turn back-.” The sound of static momentarily cut off whatever Scotty was trying to tell him. “-the storm’s definitely coming in, and faster than we thought!”

“We’ll turn back immediately. Kirk out.”

Spock, however, had continued to walk on as he’d talked to Scotty. 

“Hey, wait!” But Spock didn’t slow down. 

“Spock, we’ve got to turn back now. We’re nearly out of communication range.”

Spock said nothing. Jim ran forwards and tried to stand in front of him, but was gently, though firmly pushed aside. 

“Talk to me, Spock. You aren’t acting rationally!”

It had no effect. Spock didn’t slow his pace. When Jim opened a channel on his communicator he was greeted only with static. He didn’t have a light but if he wanted, he knew he could feel his way back to the point where he’d been able to talk to Scotty. That would mean leaving Spock to continue on his own, though, and the guy was clearly not himself.

“Damnit, Spock! I’m ordering you to turn back!”

The pace Spock was setting now was hurried. They were almost running and Jim feared one of them might lose his footing and fall. If he did, would Spock even notice?

Then he ran face first into a wall. No, into Spock. They were standing in the entrance to a huge vaulted chamber. 

He felt his skin crawling. But it was just another room, albeit a very impressive one. It was lined with statues. He didn’t have time to make out more as there was a thud and then the light went out.

He reached forward and found Spock’s shoulders; it seemed Spock was kneeling on the floor. 

“Spock, what the hell’s going on here?” he hissed into his ear. 

He got down onto his knees and moved his hands down from Spock’s shoulders, along his arms, searching for the flashlight. No matter how much he ran his fingers over and around Spock’s hands, they were empty—they were also shaking. 

“Spock! We need that light!” he whispered.

Keeping one hand on Spock’s form he moved around him so he could search the area in front of them. With his free hand, he felt his way across dried mud, pebbles and the occasional twig. Finally he felt the cool metal of the flashlight. He flicked the switch. It was still working! 

Behind him Spock was breathing heavily. He spun around, still on his hands and knees and then he saw the light reflect back at him from the floor. A puddle was forming behind Spock in front of the doorway. Just a trickle of water was feeding it, but he could hear a faint rumbling sound echoing in the distance. 

He got up and rushed over to Spock, whose eyes were firmly closed. 

“We’ve got to go!” he said and shook his friend’s shoulders. 

Just when he thought it was hopeless Spock came around. 

“Jim,” he rasped, “help.”

Jim looked towards the tunnel entrance. He turned the light off and tucked it into the waistband of his trousers, so he had both hands free. Then he helped Spock up. 

The trickle of water had become a small stream now. Jim whipped out the flashlight with one arm and flung his free arm around Spock’s back to support him. 

“We’ve got to get out of here right now! It’s not too far to go, then we can contact the _Enterprise_. Try and lean on the wall for support if you can.”

It was a struggle as Spock was heavier than his slender frame suggested, but they splashed through the tunnel into the previous chamber. With each step Jim could feel Spock growing stronger again. 

“I am able to walk on my own,” his friend said. 

They were both ankle deep in the water, but the current was getting stronger – there was more water where this had come from. It was a mad dash, but thankfully, Spock seemed to have recovered completely and was able to lead the way. There was no time to waste on checking maps. 

“Do you,” Jim panted, “hear that roaring sound too?”

“I do,” Spock said, just as wave after wave started hitting them. 

“The water level is rising fast,” Jim shouted; they now found themselves slowed down by the resistance of the thigh deep water. 

“We should be able to attempt communication now,” Spock said.

“Then why aren’t you opening a channel?” 

The water had reached chest height.

“I have lost my communicator in the current,” Spock replied.

Jim reached down into the water to search for his own and came up empty handed. 

“Shit.” 

“I apologize for getting us into this situation, Captain.”

“Damned right you should,” he shouted back. “I could have you court-martialed!”

“Indeed you could,” Spock replied.

He couldn’t hear any challenge in that voice. Damned Vulcan! 

Jim threw himself forward another step.

He knew that it wasn’t like Spock to simply disobey his orders. This mission had clearly gotten to Spock. There had been warning signs, all of which he’d chosen to ignore. 

“Sorry,” he said eventually. 

The water was freezing! Breathing was becoming laborious now.

“I do still trust you,” Jim said. “I won’t call a court marital. But, you’ll be stuck on the ship for this mission.” If they got out alive that was. 

Spock didn’t protest and Jim didn’t turn around to face him. It wasn’t much further, Jim knew that, and he clung to that thought as if it were a lifeline. They’d been through worse in the past.


	12. Chapter 12

They waded on and were lucky the next chamber was above rather than below them. The water tore away at Jim’s energy and threatened to freeze up his muscles; the current pelted his body relentlessly. He leaned into it and clenched his jaw. If he went on, he’d lose his footing and be dragged off by the torrent to a watery grave.

“Can’t go on alone,” he choked. “If I take one more step, I’m gone.”

Above the thundering noise of the moving water, Jim heard Spock behind him. “I, too, do not dare to move.”

Jim couldn’t turn around, or the movement might cause him to lose his balance, but with his free hand, he reached to search for Spock. 

“I am too far behind you,” Spock said. 

“What now?” 

“I do not know.”

Jim bit his lip. His fingers had gone stiff, but he slowly opened his hand. The flashlight dropped into the water, plunging them into absolute darkness. The roaring sounded even louder now and the pressure on his chest from the cold water seemed to increase tenfold. 

“You’re right behind me? If I let go,” Jim said, pausing to suck in more cold air, “you can catch me. We’ll both lose our footing but if we hit the wall behind us together,” he emphasized that word as best as he could, “we can get around the chamber, along the walls.” 

Jim swallowed hard, then said in a clearer voice, “We can get all the way across this chamber together. I know it.”

The water lapped at his neck and splashed into his mouth. He spat it out.

“Let go,” Spock replied.

As soon as the words left Spock’s mouth, Jim lost his footing and was swept backwards with the current. He felt Spock’s arm and lunged around to hold onto him with both hands; he was pulled under by the current—but he had a grip on Spock’s body! Spock was trying to pull him in a direction; since Jim no longer knew where up or down was, he tried to push himself towards Spock with all the strength he had. When he finally surfaced he took a deep breath and was rewarded with a mouthful of cold water. 

Then they slammed into the wall. Jim choked on the water in his mouth. He’d surely broken at least a few ribs just then. Now the current was pulling at them sideways too, towards the passageway they’d just come through. Jim wondered if it was completely underwater now. 

“We have to start walking along,” Spock said. “Along the wall. We will never be able to swim against the current and the water is still rising. If it gets much higher we will not be able to touch the floor at all.”

Jim squeezed Spock’s shoulder tightly. He was still too winded from the impact to talk. It was slow going, but together they managed to reach one corner. And then the other. 

“Nearly there,” Jim panted.

Finally they reached the next passageway. It was as narrow as Jim remembered. This meant he would have to let go of Spock, but they could use the wall. Just as well, as the water was now up to his mouth and he didn’t think he’d be able to get much grip on the floor at all. 

“You first,” Spock insisted, and Jim was in no position to argue. It was the logical choice.

Being able to use his arm muscles to help him move against the current was a big help as they struggled uphill. It was a lot better in the next room; they held onto one another once more and shuffled along the wall.

“The current,” Jim said, “I can hardly feel it anymore. The worst of the storm might have passed.”

They stopped and Jim was glad for the opportunity to catch his breath, though he could feel his muscles starting to seize up. 

“Spock?”

“The water is rising up from the center of this room,” he replied. 

Jim nodded, although he knew Spock couldn’t see the gesture in the dark. “I know.”

The water really was rising, trying to crawl over his chin to cover his mouth. They were nearly out, nearer to being dry; there was the chamber with the pit and beyond that the entrance hall. Suddenly Jim felt his whole body lifted up off the floor. He had to tread water to stay afloat.

“The current is weaker, but it is still present,” Spock said, “and it will be very strong in the next tunnel. Our chances of success are not high.”

“That,” Jim sputtered, “is an understatement. It’s pitch black, I can’t see a thing and we have to find a hole in the floor—which I can’t feel anymore, by the way — and then we have to swim through it. It was a tight squeeze last time!”

“Do you have any alternative suggestions?”

“Let’s do it!”

“I can still feel the floor,” Spock said. “Hold onto me.”

Spock could indeed feel the floor, Jim realized, but only by submerging himself almost completely, pushing himself up out of the water to breathe. Jim knew Spock was as blind as he was, but he hoped Spock’s sense of direction was better than his. Suddenly Spock fell. Jim latched onto him and swum against the current, trying to keep them both from being dragged away by the water. 

“The tunnel,” Spock said, when he surfaced again. 

Jim understood—Spock had stepped into the entrance in the floor. 

Spock pushed him gently. “You first.”

“Spock—.”

“Go!”

Jim took a deep breath, ignored the pain in his cramping legs and his battered ribcage and pushed himself off Spock to get down to the floor. He wanted to let out the breath, make it easier to descend, but he held it in. He’d need the oxygen. His hands could feel the edges of the tunnel now. All the strength he had left went into kicking his legs frantically, trying to move forward through the tunnel. It was tight; he scraped his hands and knees raw on the walls. His lungs were burning furiously by the time he managed to get to the end of the passage. 

Where was Spock? His lungs were on fire, but he didn’t let the air out, he didn’t dare risk a lung full of water. He pushed himself away from the entrance and up—he hoped it was up—and gasped when he reached the surface. He was still treading water, but he was able to take a few deep breaths. Breathing had never felt so good. 

“Spock!” he called out. 

The sound of his voice was completely drowned out by the din. They—he was in the room with the hole in the ceiling. He imagined the water falling through it from above, all the water that the storm had released onto the mountain-side, crashing into the pit, creating the small waves which were now hitting him relentlessly. He tried to swim away from the waterfall, towards the ledge. His fingers found it and held on for dear life as blackness was starting to creep into his mind. Once more he shouted out for Spock, but there was no response. 

His eyes stung and he felt a wave of despair rip through his insides. He mustered the entirety of his remaining energy, drawing on reserves he hadn’t known he possessed. 

“Spock!” 

Nothing. No reply.

Jim knew he should get out of the water. He braced himself against the pain and tried to pull himself onto the ledge. His arms buckled under the strain. As he collapsed back into the water, body limp, he felt something against his leg. 

His muscles sprung to life again as he twisted around and reached out with his hands. They brushed against fabric—then a strong hand grasped his right wrist. He pulled and then reached out with his other hand to draw Spock even closer. His fingers dug into his friend’s shoulder as he gathered him to his chest and held him tight.

Jim ran his hand up Spock’s spine to the back of his head. “Are you ok?” 

He felt Spock nod his head. 

Taking Spock’s hand in his, he guided it to the edge of the pit. “The ledge is here.” 

“I will help you up first,” Spock replied. 

With help this time, he was able to lift himself onto the ledge. Then he got up onto one knee and grabbed Spock’s arms.

“Now,” he shouted, and pulled as hard as he could. It was enough to help Spock up. 

They both said nothing for a while as they lay panting, slumped against the wall.

“We made it!” Jim finally said. 

He laughed. They’d both made it out alive! From here on it would be dry; they just had to find the strength to walk the last stretch. He knew he was far too cold, had broken some ribs and was bruised all over, but there was still enough adrenaline coursing through his blood to keep him going. 

He felt the air move next to him as Spock got up. Jim’s hand found his friend’s leg as he reached out for him—then Spock helped him stand. The ledge was incredibly narrow with no room to spare. Still cold from the water, he leaned against Spock, pinning him to the wall. Neither of them moved for a while as Jim fought his muscles and the blackness. All his body wanted was to give in, to collapse back onto the floor. 

“I’m… I think I’m ok now, Spock,” he said after a while. 

But Spock didn’t let go. Jim was aware that they were both soaking wet and that it was freezing cold, but between them, where their bodies were touching, was a small haven of warmth; he could feel Spock’s breath against his neck. 

He pressed himself into that touch, to further warm them both. Spock moved his head back, as if to look at Jim. It was pitch black, but Jim needed to ‘see’ him. He ran one of his hands up one strong Vulcan arm to Spock’s neck and cupped his chin. Then he ran his hand over his face, tracing the line of his eyebrows and of his high cheekbones. 

They were so close; it was impossible for Jim not to notice that the other man was holding his breath. Jim was giddy and he felt his own chest tighten. He tilted his head up slightly, as if to look into Spock’s eyes, although he knew it was too dark to do so … and as he did, his lips brushed against Spock’s. 

His heart was pumping furiously. Despite the roar of the waterfall behind him, Jim was sure Spock would be able to hear the sound of his heart beat. 

The feel of Spock’s lips so close to his and then, when they both let out the lungful of air they’d each been holding, the feel of their breath mingling in the space between … it all turned his mouth dry. Although he was already blind he closed his eyes and brought his hand down along Spock’s jaw so his fingertips were resting just underneath Spock’s chin, stroking it gently. 

Their lips pressed closer, moved against each other slowly. It was a timid kiss. Water was dripping from their hair down their faces. It fell onto their joined lips.

Jim’s heart was still pounding away in his chest; it was starting to hurt. His blood felt as if it were on fire with increasing amounts of adrenaline. He pulled away slowly. 

He …now that they were apart, he couldn’t deny that he wanted nothing more than to feel Spock’s lips on his again. He pushed his body further into Spock’s and as their lips touched once more, he caught Spock’s lower lip gently with his teeth. 

In the pit of his stomach a curious feeling was forming. His fingers felt their way along Spock’s cheek, past his ear and eventually buried themselves in the hair at the back of his neck as he deepened the kiss. It was no longer a timid brush of lips. The kiss had evolved, it was hungry—and it was exciting. Jim was an explorer by nature; he couldn’t help it. 

He didn’t know how much longer he could stand upright; he was feeling dizzy.

Suddenly, Spock broke the kiss and turned his head away abruptly, though his grip on Jim’s body tightened. He was about to ask what was going on when he saw it too. Light! He twisted his upper body around so that he could look behind him and was just in time to see a whole team of people with bright flashlights enter the room. As less of his body was now in contact with Spock’s, he immediately felt the chill on his chest and started shivering. The rescue team was on their way over to get them. He could fight off the cold for a few more minutes, he thought, just as the shadows finally enveloped his mind.


	13. Chapter 13

It was warm. Jim wriggled his body around; the heat felt good. The soft surface he was lying on felt good too—hmmm, nice cozy blanket. 

A voice said something.

His heart started beating faster. Who was intruding? Why were they trying to wake him up and why didn’t he understand them?

Finally he could hear the words, but the meaning of them eluded him and he didn’t know who was saying them. He opened his eyes.

A spring balanced operating light shone directly into his eyes. Bones angled it away from his face. 

“Jim, how are you?” 

His heart started to calm down. He pushed the thermal blanket off his chest and noted that the pain in his ribcage was almost completely gone.

“Feel a lot better, thanks,” he said. 

Bones ran his tricorder over him; the corners of his mouth were upturned. 

“Thanks for putting me back together.” Jim made the effort to sit up. 

“Yeah, well, don’t count on me having the patience to do it again next time you get in trouble.”

Jim smiled. 

“I’m glad you’re happy to be alive,” Bones said, “or maybe it’s just the drugs. Going into that mountain with a mad Vulcan definitely counts as suicidal in my book.”

Jim looked around the room, but couldn’t see Spock anywhere. 

“That green blooded goblin is in his quarters. I’ve taken him off-duty, and you too. Few days off won’t matter, though Sulu’s already complaining that they need Spock’s help.” 

Bones leaned over him to check the bio-bed’s readouts before continuing. “Spock’s report to me left a lot to be desired, but I didn’t like the sound of what he said happened to him one bit, so I banned him from going down to the surface—though he said you’d already done that. I was glad to hear you haven’t completely lost your wits. Both of you need to get better, at any rate.”

It was draining to sit upright, so he closed his eyes and lay back. Bones continued to hover. Jim cracked an eye open and took in his friend’s raised eyebrow. 

“Yeah, of course, Bones… don’t worry, I agree with you. I’m not going to rush off back to the surface first thing tomorrow morning. And Spock won’t be allowed to go down to Saketh for the time being.”

“No, he won’t be until I give him the all-clear,” the doctor said and turned away.

***

It had taken Jim only a few hours sleep in sickbay to recover and then he’d retreated to his quarters for the rest of the night. He leaned back into his couch seat and swung his legs up onto the low table in front of it, dislodging a few reports. The clatter as they hit the smooth, red floor was satisfying in ways Jim couldn’t even start to describe. Looking down at the mess he’d created, he saw that one of the PADDs was still active; it was Spock’s report.

A grimace spread across his face at the sight of it. He closed his eyes and sagged back into his seat. What had happened to Spock in the Katric ark had alarmed and confused him. He’d had high hopes Spock would’ve just been able to explain it all logically. But he hadn’t been able to, so he’d ordered Sulu not to go near that place.

He let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes. In his mind’s eye he saw him. _Spock._

They’d kissed. Shit, that couldn’t be real, could it?

He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes still closed as he held that memory in his mind and turned it over, trying to feel its shape, poking at it. But like all apart from the most horrific memories he had, it wasn’t very clear. As he sought to re-live what had happened, he found that the more he reflected on the feel of his hand on Spock’s face, his lips on his, the harder his heart started hammering against his still tender ribs. All kinds of emotions welled up inside him, but out of all of them, excitement was the dominant one.

Deep inside him he felt an itch to do something about it—he was an explorer by nature, he always had been: it was his true passion. He allowed his mind to wander in that direction, how it might feel to have those strong Vulcan hands all over him. In his life he’d done many stupid things just to get attention… he didn’t want to add another to the list.

The door chime rang.

Spock, he thought.

“Come in.”

Spock stepped into Jim’s quarters. Like Jim, he still looked slightly bruised from the bashing they’d received earlier. But his hair was perfect, his hands were clasped firmly behind his back and he was standing tall.

Jim moved some of the PADDs from his couch to his table. “Spock, have a seat.”

Spock came over, placing his hands on his knees when he was seated next to him. His face was set as hard as flint. The report on the floor was still open and Jim reached for it like a life-line. He started to question Spock on a few details and Spock replied to each of his queries.

Jim looked down at the report in his hands again. They’d reached the end of it. Time was up.

“Spock?”

The Vulcan raised one of his eyebrows. Jim moved closer so that their thighs were touching. With bated breath he waited, but Spock stayed firmly where he was, allowing the contact. Jim’s back and shoulder muscles relaxed almost instantly. Growing bold he placed his hand on Spock’s and when there was no sign of protest, he gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m glad you’re ok,” he said in a quiet voice.

Spock was silent, but his clear eyes softened for a moment. Jim couldn’t hold back a smile now. Whenever Spock allowed him one of those rare glimpses behind his mask it always made him beam inside and out.

He looked down, aware that he should probably withdraw his hand now. But it didn’t feel awkward to leave it on Spock’s hand either. He wondered how Spock felt about that. Vulcans probably didn’t find any of this touchy-feely stuff very logical. But _he_ was human and needed these very physical demonstrations of friendship. What about Spock with his unique human side? Maybe he needed them too, but because he’d grown up on Vulcan… how lonely must he have been growing up?

Jim felt a small, hard lump form in his throat and wrapped his fingers around Spock’s hand, holding it tightly.

“Spock,” he breathed, “that mind meld stuff you can do… how does it work? You can share your emotions that way, right?”

Spock removed his hand and leant over Jim to take the PADD on which his report was open.

“The Katric ark—,” Spock began.

Jim furrowed his brow. “Spock, please. Let’s not talk about the mission.”

Spock looked down at the PADD and back up. “I am afraid I do not understand, Captain.”

Jim wasn’t sure how he’d managed to confuse Spock, as he thought they’d changed the topic, but apparently not. Maybe he would have to be more forward.

“I was just wondering,” Jim said. “No real reason, just wanted to know how your telepathy works. You use your fingers, don’t you?”

Spock stared at him for a few seconds, before setting the PADD to one side.

“While our telepathy is not a closely guarded secret, it is not something we discuss with outsiders, as we consider its use to be very intimate.”

“I won’t go telling everyone about it.”

“You are aware the electrical signals the central nervous system generates are strong and can be measured with ease.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question as such, but Jim still felt the need to reply. “Yes, of course. Ah, I think I can see where this is going… the electrical fields our brain generate, they get through the skull and carry on further into the space around someone’s head, don’t they?”

“Correct. All Vulcans have the ability to pick up those signals, but instinctively our minds are shielded. We have to learn to un-shield our minds by essentially ‘turning down the volume’ of noise from our neurons, so that it is quiet enough for us to hear them.”

“But you can do more than just listen… .”

“How did you gain so much knowledge on the subject?”

“Um… I’ll tell you another time, maybe.”

Jim fully expected Spock to protest that, but instead he seemed content; in fact his gaze softened, almost knowingly. It made Jim squirm in his seat.

“To truly meld minds,” Spock went on, “I would need to touch the other person.”

“So you use your hands to make a direct connection?”

Spock’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

“Sorry,” Jim said. “I’ll let you explain and won’t interrupt anymore.”

“The minds must no longer be able to distinguish which thoughts are its own and which are foreign. For this to happen, both minds must be quiet. With our fingers we can touch pressure points on the skull, to manipulate bloodflow. We often chant, too, to help focus both minds.  
“The process is impossible without being able to feel another’s pulse, to feel the heat of their skin — or lack thereof. If I were to attempt a meld with an alien I would have to know their body as if it were my own, if I were to have any chance of matching my signals to theirs.”

Then Spock averted his eyes. “Vulcans can also use the same techniques to dominate another’s mind.”

So that’s what Spock had done to the Romulan on the Narada.

“So the hands help in an indirect way?” Jim said quickly. He didn’t want Spock’s mind to wander to that day. And he got the feeling he wouldn’t get his friend to share his emotions with him after all, despite how well the conversation had been going up until that last confession. Damnit, he hated talking about his feelings.

Spock nodded. He’d returned his hand to his knee.

Jim stared at it, debating whether he could get away with giving it another squeeze.

Spock followed his gaze. “Our hands are five times as sensitive as a human’s; that is how we can know another’s body through touch alone.”

Well, that was a good excuse! This time he reached out with both of his hands to take Spock’s.

He grinned. “So I’d need three more hands to make this equal?”

He willed his heart not to start beating faster and of course, as when someone told you not to think about pink elephants, it had the opposite effect. 

Spock pulled his hand away. He held out his middle and his index finger.

“This,” he said, “is how Vulcans show affection.”

Jim studied the pale face; the usually firm lips were shaking minutely. 

The sight caused Jim’s breath to hitch. He quickly folded one of his hands in the Vulcan gesture. Then Spock touched their fingertips together.

“Is this a kiss?” Jim whispered.

“It is … everything humans express through a multitude of physical gestures. We have only this one as our hands are so sensitive. It is a hug, a kiss, a caress.”


	14. Chapter 14

Jim licked his dry lips. It was absolutely amazing, to have someone with whom he could be this open.

He pulled Spock up off the couch and held him close. At the feel of Spock against him, Jim felt his chest constrict, as if a ton of steel were crushing it. With all the strength he had, he held Spock tighter still so that it was painful. It was the reassurance he craved.

“Spock,” he said breathlessly.

Damn, he hadn’t wanted it to come out that way. He loosened his grip so he could pull back and look at Spock’s face, at those lips. Jim’s hand moved down Spock’s arms and then wrist, and before he could think their fingers touched again. He didn’t have the same steady hands as the Vulcan—the tips of his fingers moved against Spock’s. The alien’s larger chest rose suddenly, breaking the silence with a gasp.

The sight of him reacting like that unleashed the same dangerous excitement in Jim he’d felt in the chamber before he’d passed out. They were so close, their bodies touching all over through their clothes.

His eyes flicked to Spock’s lips. Then he caught Spock’s mouth in a kiss and hoped Spock wouldn’t pull away, hoped that he also felt a thrill run through his body when their lips met.

After a few agonizing heartbeats Spock softly returned the kiss. Jim's blood was on fire and he didn’t want to put it out, he wanted his blood to burn more. What hurt could it do if today, right now, he expressed the love he felt for his friend in a less traditional way? Stoking the flames, he reached around Spock’s neck with his free hand, gently stroking the hairs there, before running his hand down Spock’s back.

He drew his lips away, cupped Spock’s face in one hand and wondered at how hungry he was for this intimate contact. It had been so long since he’d last felt this way about anyone, ; was this all going too fast?

Spock brought up one of his own hands to Jim’s face, stroking along his jaw, chin and lips with the backs of his fingers. Knowing that his body was being read like an open book made him shiver with longing for more. To hell with caution, he could deal with the fallout later.

“Do you…” he wetted his bottom lip, looked into Spock’s dark brown eyes and spoke in a lower voice. “When we touch like this—the thrill, the anticipation—you feel it too, don’t you? Do you want… I mean, we’re both responsible adults, right?”

Spock planted kiss after kiss lightly on his cheeks and along his jaw all the way to his ear. The way Spock’s lips brushed over his earlobe excited his sensitive skin.

“Life is short,” Spock said.

Those words brought the tight feeling back to Jim’s chest and he hugged Spock again. If he’d lost Spock… the idea that he might never have seen those eyes again pained him beyond belief. The excitement he felt paled in comparison to a sudden wave of raw urgency that broke over him.

Spock leaned in for another kiss. Jim didn’t want to think and returned it with equal passion, running his hands all over Spock’s back and pulling at his shirt. Spock was still standing as straight as always, inflexible as warp core shielding, even as Jim rubbed his body against Spock’s, kissing him furiously. He let his hands explore—Spock was as hard as he was. The sensations overwhelmed Jim’s thoughts. He found himself stumbling forwards, when the Vulcan no longer wanted to stand against Jim’s insistent pressure. 

He backed Spock up to one of the walls of his quarters. It reminded him of the position they’d been in on Saketh when they’d only just escaped death by a hair’s breadth. Jim wholeheartedly agreed with Spock—life was too precious to not experience it to the fullest. And in space you never knew which breath might be your last.

He wrapped his lips around Spock’s chin and sucked on it, grazing it slightly with his teeth, before kissing his way down Spock’s neck to his shirt collar. Their hips were flush against each other and Jim was panting heavily with anticipation, when Spock brought his hand around to rest on the small of Jim’s back. 

Jim moaned. “Maybe we should move this to my bed?”

In reply Spock merely raised an eyebrow—coupled with his intense, unwavering stare, it made Jim’s skin tingle and his muscles restless. He took Spock’s hand and led him past the flimsy partition to his sleeping area. When they reached the edge of the bed, Spock trailed his fingers over Jim’s lips before kissing him again. 

Spock reached for Jim’s waistband, and ran his fingers along it. It made Jim want to grind into Spock harder, but he also wanted the Vulcan to relax—as he didn’t know how this could possibly work otherwise—so he controlled himself, pulled Spock’s hand up to his lips and kissed each finger lightly.

Spock's body remained stiff, but his breathing was coming faster, his chest heaving to keep up. Jim felt his stomach warm with lust at the sight. He placed another kiss on the index finger and stroked up and down those long fingers with his own. Spock returned the gesture, sending shivers down Jim’s spine; he’d never realized before how sensitive his own fingers were. Even when Spock pulled away, the skin there still tingled from the touch.

Enough was enough. He dropped to his knees in front of Spock, not wanting to be misunderstood. He placed his hands on Spock’s hips and slowly got to work pulling Spock’s trousers and underwear down, always checking his face. While his expression didn’t really change, he didn’t stop Jim either. What he did do was to start stroking Jim’s face again. When the garments finally lay on the floor, Spock sat down on the edge of the bed, his back as straight as always, his hand still stroking Jim’s jaw. 

Either this part of Spock’s anatomy was human or Vulcans weren’t very different. The skin looked a bit thicker, and greener, but that was all. A small grin crept across Jim’s features. He took Spock’s hand and guided it to his mouth. He breathed out over the index finger, before closing his lips over it and running his tongue slowly over the fingertip. He placed his other hand on Spock’s thigh. He could feel that the Vulcan’s already fast pulse had increased dramatically, which made Jim’s grin widen further. 

He placed both his hands on Spock’s legs and started running his fingers gently over the skin there, slowly increasing the pressure. Then he inched forward on his knees and generously wetted his lips. 

“No,” Spock said softly. 

Jim snapped his head up. 

“You would not derive any enjoyment from that act unless we used a condom.”

Some alien bodily fluids could be dangerous to human health, he knew that, but that wasn’t exactly what Spock had said. 

“This is a taste issue? If so, let me make up my own mind?” he said, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.

He was sure that if Vulcans rolled their eyes, that’s what Spock would have done; instead, he raised an eyebrow. 

Jim hesitated. They could stop now, laugh it all off and forget about it—he could do that, and it might be for the best. But… for Spock to allow him this far… how his lips had quivered when he’d extended his fingers to him… he looked up into those dark brown eyes and just knew that they both needed this.

He leaned down and took him into his mouth. There was no bad taste, but his tongue felt like it was on fire. Quickly he drew back. No, not fire, ice! It felt a bit like he’d put an ice cube into his mouth, but the sensation wasn’t going away, it was just getting worse. 

“Feel, so… cold,” he said.

He stuck his tongue out and touched it with his fingers—it didn’t feel cold to touch.

Spock was definitely laughing at him, if only with his eyes. “I will get you some water.”

“Stay here… it’s not that bad.” 

He had to repress a shiver. It wasn’t actually cold in his quarters, he told himself. 

“It is a chemical which interferes with the temperature sensors on your tongue.”

“Oh, that’s just great.” 

Jim wiped his tongue on his shirt sleeve; it didn’t help. Well, he’d been warned, hadn’t he? The sensation reminded him of extremely spicy food, except somehow it was the opposite—cold rather than hot. 

He could deal with hot chilies, he even liked them. He could manage cold chilies, too, couldn’t he? After all this, Spock was almost soft again. With long, determined licks he explored the tip and used his hands to stroke up and down his length. 

“Jim, you do not have to prove yourself to me.”

The biting cold was hurting his tongue, but he forced himself to ignore the pain and explore more. His fingers were meanwhile telling him that Spock felt hot to touch. It was an odd feeling, his senses in such conflict—it wasn’t pleasant, not by a long shot, but… it was this kind of novel, fresh experience that had always drawn Jim to alien sex—that, and the challenge of it.

He came back up again for a few gulps of air and to give his tongue a break, all the while keeping up the pressure with longer, harder strokes of his hand. “Call me a masochist, Spock, but I could get used to this.”  
Spock placed both his hands on the edge of the bed, gripping it firmly. Jim knew he had to be careful to keep his eyes glued to Spock’s face to judge his reactions, in case he did anything that was uncomfortable for Spock. There really wasn’t much there for Jim to know what Spock enjoyed, so he stuck to the basics. He wanted it to be good for Spock, he wanted it to be mind-blowing, but for the moment he’d content himself with simply not messing up.

That Spock trusted him this much, this obvious sign that the deep trust he was feeling for Spock ran both ways caused Jim’s body to flush hot. The faith Spock was placing in him really was the most powerful aphrodisiac he’d ever encountered.

Spock’s brown eyes were large and his gaze as intense as the point of a dagger. His mouth opened slightly as his breathing became more labored and that was all the warning Jim got. He swallowed everything Spock gave him. Being able to bring him to orgasm felt fucking amazing. 

He watched as Spock’s breathing slowly returned to normal. The Vulcan’s dark gaze still focused completely on him, as if nothing else in the room existed at all.

Jim leaned heavily on Spock’s thighs, pushed himself up off the floor and wrapped his arms around himself to stop himself from shivering. Immediately, Spock’s hand shot up to Jim’s hip and gripped him firmly, undid the fastenings of Jim's trousers, pulled them down and did the same to his underwear. He was relieved at this eagerness because he really needed warming up just now.

Spock knelt down on the floor in front of him and Jim thought he couldn’t be any more aroused—the sight of Spock reaching out for him and touching him there... a glimpse of Spock's tongue, shooting out from between those velvety lips, visible for just a second... Jim moaned loudly as Spock’s lips closed around his cock. He griped the hair at the back of Spock's head, more to steady himself than anything else. The maddeningly precise pace Spock was setting was driving him crazy, making him want more, so he pushed his hips into the action.

He felt his shoulders tighten, then the rest of his body, as he came. Spock slowed, releasing him, before he moved away. 

He guided Jim around to the bed and let him flop unceremoniously onto his back. Jim lay there panting, looking up at the ceiling. He worked to breathe normally again. Wow. He felt good, so warm and relaxed—he could fall asleep right now. 

“Spock?” 

He looked up. The Vulcan was standing at the foot of the narrow bed, with his back to him, pulling up his trousers. 

Shit—this wasn’t good. He felt exposed and swung himself up into a sitting position to pull his own clothes back on. He worked as slowly as he could, straightening out every crease in his uniform. When he wasn't able to use that as an excuse anymore he forced himself to look at Spock. The alien’s face was perfectly composed as always, as if nothing had happened between them at all. His hands were clasped firmly behind his back.

Jim squared his jaw. “Regret it already, do you?”

“Regret is an illogical emotion.”

He felt his stomach drop. “I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy this as much as I did. Then again, I guess enjoying something is also illogical?”

Jim could feel the distance between them growing. “I’m sorry.” He smiled ruefully. “You know, usually it’s me trying to make a quick getaway rather than staying for the night, not the other way around. Guess I don’t like being given a spoon of my own medicine.” He straightened his back. “You simply want to make it clear that this meant nothing.”

Spock’s eyes flicked to the floor and then back to Jim’s. He stepped forward, right into Jim’s personal space. With one hand he reached up to stroke through the blond hair, with the other he touched Jim’s lips. This close, Spock’s eyes looked so big.

“It is true that I wish to return to my own quarters for the night.”

“And?”

Spock didn’t reply, just continued to run his hands through his hair gently. Was he being cruel to Spock by asking for some verbal confirmation, when the guy was already showing him he’d misunderstood the situation? Damn their cultural differences for trying to ruin their friendship or … whatever it had turned into now. For all he knew he might have inadvertently slighted Spock, too.

Jim reached out tentatively to stroke Spock's cheek before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. Spock stopped stroking his hair, letting his arm fall back to his side. Then he felt the long, slender fingers curl into the palm of his right hand—the Vulcan kiss. 

He sighed gently in relief.


	15. Chapter 15

Jim hadn’t gone to sleep after Spock had left his quarters, there was too much to think about. He was sitting at his desk, his head in his hands. He had to decide whether or not he’d tell the admirals about his change in relationship with his first officer in a formal letter—that’s if there was going to be a permanent change, of course. The thought that there might not be left him feeling vulnerable in a way he didn’t like. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _Calm down—Spock isn’t the type to do “casual” and you’ll work through the awkwardness eventually._

That brought him back to what he’d have to say to the admirals. With every cell in his body he didn’t want to tell them, even though it was his duty to do so. What if the admiralty decided to put a stop to it? It was within their rights to do so if they thought it was affecting his command. 

He picked up a PADD on which he’d opened all the mission reports for which the _Enterprise_ had received some kind of admonishment. 2258.309: Going down on an away mission and throwing himself into the way of phaser fire to protect his first officer; 2259.9: allowing the science department to shut down almost all systems so it could use eighty percent of the ship’s energy for Spock to analyze a ‘fascinating’ white dwarf star system—leaving them vulnerable to the inevitable attack from Orion pirates; 2259.38: Spock ordering the beam down of a full scale rescue party into a pre-warp civilization city just to save his ass from a few locals; and finally 2259.157: the most recent incident with the Klingons and his gamble—all for the benefit of the Vulcans? Or for Spock? 

How would all his actions be interpreted if he sent a formal acknowledgment that he was in a relationship with his First?

Jim slammed the PADD back down onto his desk with such force that the screen cracked. Damn, that felt good!

***

The next morning before alpha shift Jim walked through the ship in a kind of daze. He was hoping to catch Bones for breakfast—preferably in his quarters.

When he got to his door though, his hand hovered over the door chime. What was he going to tell him? His hand dropped to his side. There wasn't much he could say. Jim got the overwhelming feeling Spock would not appreciate it if he went around telling people of their little encounter last night. No, definitely not, not after how his relationship with Uhura had ended up as a public mess. And besides, if he wasn’t going to tell the admirals, he definitely couldn’t tell his crew. If word got out … .Fuck, he had to keep this secret—not a soul could know.

He was confused about how to deal with sex with his best friend, but he'd just have to suck it up, wouldn't he, and be confused until he worked through it himself. If anyone it was Spock he should be talking too.

He turned away from the door. At that moment, though, the doors swished open and Bones nearly ran into him.

"Whoa there, Jim!"

"Hey, I was about to ring the chime! Feel like grabbing some breakfast?"

"Why not wait in the mess?"

"I haven't talked to you in ages and I wanted to know how you were... "

"Come in," Bones said, already turning around. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please." 

As he stepped into Bones quarters he felt guilty that he hadn't made time recently to visit him more.

"Take a seat," Bones said while clattering around getting breakfast. "Glad you came here, really wasn't up for talking about Joanna in the middle of the officer’s mess. Not one for making my problems public."

Jim could agree with that sentiment.

"The ex?"

"Uh-huh. It's Jo's birthday next month. I'm not around to see her grow up and now she doesn't even want to allow me to talk to her via subspace on her birthday? What sick kind of thinking is that? She's already growing up hardly knowing me. I need her to know that I care… is even that too much to ask for?"

Thoughts of Spock pushed to one side, Jim listened to Bones’ problems for the rest of their breakfast.

***

They were a panting, sticky mess — well, Jim was a mess. He grabbed Spock’s hand and brought the pale fingers to his lips, before closing his eyes and lying back in the damp sheets. He could feel Spock’s breaths slowly becoming shallower, more regular and much quieter. Then the bed moved as Spock got up. He heard the swish of the bathroom door.

Jim’s skin was starting to chill. He searched with his hand for a cover, but there was none in reach. He groaned and rolled over, opening his eyes for a second. It was on the floor. Leaning down he picked it up with one hand, flung it back onto the bed and pulled it over his body.

It was late. If someone saw Spock leave his quarters at this time he supposed they would just put it down to an urgent discussion. They might speculate that they’d been having a constructive briefing about changes to the planet-side security patrols’ roster. 

He wished Spock would stay; he should have talked to him before falling into bed with him again.

“Jim.”

“You’re leaving?”

When Spock didn’t reply he looked up. Spock had cleaned himself up and got dressed—he looked immaculate again. Yes, they had definitely just been in a meeting. He buried his face into his pillow.

Well, it was too late to talk about it now. He rolled over so that he could swat at Spock with his hand, before collapsing back onto the bed. 

“G’night,” he mumbled.

He was very aware of the door’s hiss as Spock left. At least at this rate there was no chance anyone would suspect that after-hours Spock was his lover. That thought sobered him up—they had to be extremely careful. Maybe it was for the best that Spock didn’t seem to want hang around after sex—no one could find out about this! If this worked out between them,… he presumed Spock would agree with him that they couldn’t tell the admirals. 

He pulled the cover up over his head for additional warmth. Sometimes he was still such a screw-up, he thought bitterly.

***

“Chekov, cover the bridge.” Sulu got up out of the command chair and walked towards the turbo lift. 

“Sir,” Chekov said, “an Andorian wessel has just dropped out of warp in front of us.”

In one fluid move, Sulu was back in command.

“Ensign Galand, hail them,” he said. 

A few streaks of bright green headed their way. 

“Shields!”

It was too late. The burst of energy tore through the Enterprise’s hull before the shields slammed up. A deafening groan travelled through the whole structure of the ship, shaking its frame. Sulu lost his balance and fell over, hitting his nose on the hard red floor. 

He rolled over and shouted, “Lock target and return fire!”

“Yessir.” 

Sulu looked up through watery eyes just in time to see the other ship go to warp. 

Chekov turned in his chair. “Should ve follow it?”

“No, we can’t leave the landing parties behind without any defense. There may be more ships.”

Besides, the Enterprise had been hit without her shields up. Sulu breathed in deeply and sat down in the command chair. Damage reports were coming in from all departments. 

“Hull breach in engineering,” Galand said. 

“I just saw that. Get me Scotty—and the captain.” 

Although he knew Kirk was probably already halfway to the bridge by now. Shit, this was bad!

He got up and strode over to Science. “Lieutenant Mamoje, analysis?”

“It was an Andorian ship, Fonta’na class, so it should have been a standard unarmed trading vessel.” 

Clearly it had been modified.

The turbolift door opened and Kirk and Spock both rushed onto the bridge together. Sulu turned to face them.

“Pirates,” he said before the either of them could say a word.

***

Jim stormed out of the briefing room, but Scotty held him up. 

“Captain, we’ve got to go after those pirates—”

“You heard the admirals, Mr. Scott. We’re not going anywhere until we’ve finished all the preliminary scans.”

“That could take weeks…”

“Then you’d better work on getting the sensors to perform some miracles to speed things up.”

“Yessir,” Scotty said, standing to attention, but still giving him the evil eye. 

“We will go after them and hunt them down,” Jim said and Scotty relaxed a bit. “But studying Saketh takes priority. The Vulcans need a new home world.”

“One that’s safe,” Scotty said.

Jim didn’t need to explain himself to Scotty—but he wanted to. He wanted Scotty to understand why he’d played down the threat to the admirals. 

“We can make this planet safe. If I’d gone on about how much of a danger those pirates were, then we would’ve been off this planet in a second, Mr. Scott. We wouldn’t be hunting pirates, though. We’d be looking for another planet, ‘cause this solar system would be deemed just as unsafe as the Huygens one. But Saketh is not just some planet.”

He saw Scotty slowly lose his fire. “Ay, Saketh was a Vulcan home world. And it will be one again.”

He watched his chief engineer leave. Not going after those pirates really stuck in this throat like a lump of rock. He wanted to leave as soon as he could to hunt them down, too.

McCoy had made it clear that he didn’t want Spock participating in this mission, but that wasn’t going to help them finish here quickly. If only Bones would give him the ‘all clear’. He went back to his quarters and wrote a note for Bones asking him to review Spock’s case. They didn’t know what had happened, but they weren’t going to get close to an answer keeping him confined to the ship.


	16. Chapter 16

“Jim,” Spock asked, “what is on your mind?”

Jim looked up from the desk in his quarters. “What?”

“You are very distracted.”

“Am not,” Jim replied, eyeing up Spock. 

The Vulcan was sitting, reading a few PADDs. 

“You are suffering concentration problems.”

“Oh Spock, just leave me alone, will you. You’re distracting me.”  
“It is you who requested that I come by your quarters tonight. Have you changed your mind?”

Jim turned away from Spock and looked at the computer screen in front of him.

“I do not mean to imply that you are not fully capable of writing the report to Starfleet you are currently working on. However, I have seen that you have a lot of work to do besides this report. If you want, I would draft the report to Starfleet for you to alleviate your workload — as you are aware, I am not busy since I am currently not permitted to assist with the mission.”

“No, I’m fine, really.”

He heard Spock get up, heard the door opening.

“Wait,” Jim said, jumping up. 

He walked up to Spock, placed a hand on his arm and smiled. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

His heart went out to Spock. He’d be incredibly annoyed in Spock’s place — not being able to help, being so utterly useless. Spock was taking the situation with a lot more grace than he would, were their places reversed. 

He squeezed Spock’s shoulder. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Captain.”

And again, he’d missed an opportunity to talk about them. Then again, Spock seemed to be trying to avoid the conversation even more than he was. It was scary how similar their minds worked, really. But should he be that surprised? 

He’d never dated a guy before, not exactly. There had been Lawrence, back in prison… they’d not had any conversations about feelings or anything like that. The other two encounters with men had both been with aliens on training missions as a cadet—and it had been clear to both parties from the start that it was nothing more than a fun way to improve interspecies relations; just a one night stand. He’d loved how uncomplicated those encounters had been. 

Hmmm … and here he was trying to make things complicated.

***

Bones opened the door to his quarters to let Jim in. “Glad I’ve finally been able to steal a free minute of your time as it seems to be so precious at the moment.”

Jim grinned. “Well, I am the Captain. So what’s up, Bones? You said it was business.”

He’d been surprised Bones had wanted to meet in his quarters rather than his sickbay office as usual, but he wasn’t about to complain. He wasn’t that fond of sickbay. 

“It is, so I want you to take me seriously,” Bones said. 

He reached for a bottle on one of his shelves and poured them each a little whiskey. 

Jim started to chuckle. “That kind of serious?”

“Well, I just thought you might need a drink,” Bones said. 

They both sat down and Bones handed Jim his glass. The fumes from it made his eyes water. 

“Sheesh, what’s this stuff? Turpentine?”

“Got it off Scotty,” Bones replied. 

“What happened to the regular stuff you had?”

“All gone, Jim, all gone.”

Jim eyed the drink suspiciously. “Has Scotty set up a distillery down in engineering?” 

“Believe me, Jim, you don’t want to investigate.”

“Right. Fine. So what’s up?” he said, looking at Bones.

“Spock.”

Jim’s insides turned to ice and he found it hard to breathe. He dropped his eyes back to his drink and was thankful that Bones had had the good sense to invite him to his quarters.

Clunk. Bones had put his glass down. 

The sound oddly mirrored the feeling Jim’s stomach was currently experiencing. He didn’t want to talk… if Bones knew and the admiralty didn’t … he couldn’t put his friend in that position. Instead he took a sip of the paint stripper in his glass. 

Jim settled for a simple, “Yes?”

“ ‘Yes?’. Is that all you’ve got to say? He’s your goddamn first officer!”

Jim closed his eyes. 

“Have you nothing else to say about his mental health? He nearly got you both killed. I know he seems better, but that’s only ‘cause we’re keeping him away from Saketh and the mission. Much use he is to this ship right now.”

As Bones had been talking, Jim had slowly opened his eyes again. Now he gradually let out the breath he’d been holding, hoping Bones wouldn’t notice. He knew he needed to respond, so he gulped down all of Scotty’s whiskey in one mouthful. He carefully set the glass back down on the table and reached for the bottle to refill it, all to give himself just that little bit more time to recover. It wasn’t healthy for him to jump every time someone said Spock’s name. Clearly, his own mental health was taking quite a beating. 

“What do you want me to do about it?” he finally said. “You’re the Doctor. You’re the one who’s not allowing him to go back down to the planet. We can’t solve this mystery without letting him get back to work. Maybe it was just a one-time reaction? Who knows?”

Bones leant back in his chair, swirling the vile spirit around in his glass. “Alright, fine.”

Jim’s eyebrows shot up. “I get Spock back?”

Bones glared at him. “Although first I will need both a full health check and a final, thorough, review of his mental health.”

“Fine, you do that, Bones,” Jim said, a broad grin on his face. “Sounds good to me.”

He held his glass up. “Cheers!”

But Bones shook his head. He leant towards Jim, supporting himself with his elbows on his thighs. 

“Jim, the next point I have to raise is … look, kid, I couldn’t do what you do, no way. You have the sharpest tactical mind in the fleet, you’re quick, brave, decisive—you’re also ever so young. It can’t be easy having so much weight on your shoulders. Most men twice your age have trouble bearing such responsibilities. But, there are ways to deal with the loneliness of command … and then there are ways.”

Jim’s lips formed a flat line. The sinking feeling from earlier was back.

“I’m your friend and sometimes that isn’t an easy job… heaven knows you can be an absolute jerk at times. But you can come to me when you have problems; my door is always open. And I wish you’d talk to me, let me in a bit on what’s going on in your life.”

Jim put his glass down on the table with a thud. The following silence between them was deafening. 

“Look, I know you’re having sex with someone… .” 

Jim stood up. He didn’t think he could take much more of this. There was no way Bones could know. Well, Bones knew him well, maybe it was his body language, but he couldn’t know for sure.

“You don’t have any proof.” 

Bones’ eyebrows shot up; his face contorted in fury. 

Jim looked away. He knew he’d hurt his friend.

“Look-,” he said.

Bones cut him off. “Oh, I have proof all right, you can stake your ass on that. Now tell me who!”

Instantly Jim snapped his head up and looked Bones in the eye. He clenched his fists at his side.

“Oh god, Jim, come on… tell me.”

Jim remained silent.

“The fact that you don’t want to tell me, see that’s more worrying than anything. I’m sitting on a bomb here and I don’t want it to explode. If this shit blows up and I didn’t tell anyone what I knew… I need to know how serious this is, Jim. So tell me who—”

“Well it’s up to you what you do, but you won’t be getting one word out of me. Goodbye,” Jim said and left. 

As he walked back to his room, the white of the corridor walls assaulted his eyes. White was too simple and far too bright. He punched his key code into his door and as soon as it shut behind him he turned around and smacked his fist into it.

***

Jim’s shoes thudded on the hard corridor floor. The still air was able to cool his face as he set a fast pace towards Engineering. Jim looked back over his shoulder at Spock. It felt like the man was walking in his shadow. But Spock wasn’t walking any closer than usual, he kept telling himself over and over again.

In front of them, Uhura came around a corner; she was carrying a PADD and had her eyes on Jim. He slowed his pace to a stop. 

“Yes, Lieutenant?” 

He was very aware of how close Spock was. Great, he could feel his ears starting to burn.

“The latest communication from headquarters, sir,” she replied. 

“What do they want?”

“They received your report and now they want to know more about what happened to Spock. A planet that isn’t safe for Vulcans to be on—”

“What else?” Jim snapped. He felt like an old SVR 8-60 hover-bike engine that had been tampered with one time too many and in which the gas vapor pressure was reaching a critical point.

“They’re also alarmed at the number of casualties we reported,” Uhura said gravely and looked from him to Spock. 

Jim forced himself not to look at his first officer. Instead he nodded and took the PADD from Uhura. He made his excuses and continued on his way to Engineering, not looking back at them. 

He finally arrived there and looked around until he found Scotty. 

“Most of the repairs are complete. But Lieutenant Sulu’s been complaining to me that the geological scans aren’t being done fast enough. We’re still only operating at a third of our sensor capacity though—and we don’t want to hang around here longer than necessary,” Scotty said. His voice was tight. 

“So our timing hinges on some repairs?” Jim said raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Do you need a hand, Mr. Scott? I can give you more men.”

“Follow me,” Scotty said and took him aside. 

Jim went with him, although he wasn’t sure where Scotty was taking him. A few corridors later, deep in the ship’s bowels they reached a section that was cordoned off. 

“This is where we’re having the biggest problems,” Scotty said. “It’s tricky work, repairing data substations. Most weren’t too badly damaged. Some though … I’ve got many mechanics who are good enough at repairing substations, but we have to build some of them from scratch and that’s a whole different kettle of fish—especially when ye’re lacking the correct spare parts. Ye really have to know yer non-linear optics, especially four wave mixing. I’ve worked on them myself to get six of them repaired, but we still have to build another nine.”

“I know data substations like the back of my hand,” Jim said. “The _Farragut_ had the most unreliable ones in the galaxy, constantly exploding at the slightest overload of the systems. Go too near a solar flare—boom!”

“Well, if ye want to lend a hand, it might be quicker that way,” Scotty replied and walked under the cordon to grab a tool box. 

He opened his communicator. “Hey, Lindsey, McKinnon, get yer arses down here and help me and the Captain.”

The substations they both ended up working on were relatively close to one another. This was probably deliberate, so that Scotty could keep checking up on him—just to make sure he hadn’t been bullshitting. The engineer did suggest a few changes to what Jim was doing, but in general he let him work.

“Nice work, Captain, credit where it’s due,” he said the next time he came over. “Ye really are a dab hand at re-building an obliterated substation. Sure ye don’t want to join my engineering crew down here? The _Enterprise_ should be just fine in Commander Spock’s hands. Could do with someone with some brains down here, for sure. Yeah I’m talking to ye, pretty boy,” Scotty said, pretending to hit McKinnon over the head with a PADD. “Watch and learn, don’t just stand there like an orangutan.”

Scotty seemed to enjoy tormenting the guy, but McKinnon seemed to be decent enough. There was someone who was really getting on Jim’s nerves though — Lieutenant Reid. Jim knew he was the engineer responsible for the section they were working in, the one who put together the duty roster for Scotty. And yes, of course he had to do his job by checking up on everyone, but, gods, he was a prick, a complete prick! If only he would stand around doing nothing, it would be an improvement. 

For the fifth time since he’d started working on the sub-station, the low hum of the _Enterprise_ was interrupted by Reid’s loud chatting, all while Jim was trying to concentrate on a particularly difficult alignment problem. And he felt annoyed, because the guy was not only distracting him, but also Lindsey, who was making some parts for Jim. 

“If you can connect the wire, there, I think that should do it,” Jim told her. Lindsey did as instructed and then when she’d finished, she placed the component down on one of the toolboxes. 

Reid walked past and knocked it onto the ground. 

Jim jumped up. “Are you a real engineer?”

“Yes, I am.”

Jim looked at the broken piece on the floor.

“I want you off the fucking engineering deck!”

“Sorry,” Reid stammered.

“No, don’t just be sorry—think, for one fucking second!”

Reid tried to say something, but Jim cut him off. “No, don’t shut me up. What the hell is it with you? What were you doing?”

“I was-.”

“Fuck, man—you’re an amateur,” Jim said. “Mr. Scott, do you have something to say to this prick?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t watching-,” Scotty said, panting. He’d dashed over as soon as the argument had started.

“Well someone should be! This is the sixth time that he acts like he doesn’t give a fuck about what’s going on down here. What’s he doing here? That’s what’s going through my mind.” He turned back to Reid. “Stay out of this fucking section and let’s not have you breaking parts. You are un-fucking-believable, man—you are strolling around, making a fuck-ton of noise!”

Jim pushed his way past Reid who was stuttering incoherently.

“You don’t fucking understand what it’s like working with mechanics,” Jim said. “No, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.”

He’d brought his index finger up and was pointing it at Reid’s chest. 

“Un-fucking-believable,” he muttered as he stormed out of Engineering.


	17. Chapter 17

After his dramatic exit Jim had locked himself away in his quarters to work from his desk—in quiet—so he was not pleased when less than an hour later his door chime rang. It was Spock. Jim stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest.

“Captain, as your first officer, it is my duty to inform you when your performance is slipping. Also, I should inform you that Doctor McCoy wants to ‘have you committed’.”

So Bones had talked to Spock? Why? No, just… he couldn’t let himself go there. He’d probably just talked to him about the examination he had to do so Spock could go back on active duty planet-side. Just listening to himself… man, this whole secret relationship thing was stressing him out.

But how the hell was he meant to relieve this stress? He couldn’t talk about his problems to his crew or his officers. Even though Bones and Spock were his friends, he was still their commanding officer. As for Spock, he was already messing this guy up enough—he wasn’t so self-centered to believe he might be the only one suffering from trying to keep this secret. No, he didn’t need to add to Spock’s problems. But he was—just by being stressed. And it wasn’t getting better. It wasn’t getting easier.

Spock was still standing outside his door, an expectant look on his face. He wanted to help. How nice. Jim didn’t want his help, but turning him away would be like kicking a pup— … fully grown panther. 

“Oh, come in,” Jim said, unwilling to talk to Spock in the middle of the corridor, even if it was currently empty.

He wanted to glare at Spock. If he even so much as mentioned that he should take a break, or relax or something, he would seriously chuck him out of an airlock so that he could get some peace and quiet. 

Jim threw himself on his couch and put his legs up onto the table. Spock sat down next to him and reached for his hand. Jim looked up at the ceiling, but allowed him to take it. Spock held it, but did no more than that. 

A heavy silence settled over the captain’s quarters as neither spoke. 

He was tired and closed his eyes. Sleep found him rather more quickly than it usually did. 

When he woke up, he realized that he was lying down flat on the couch, with a pillow beneath his head and a glass of water on the table in front of him. His stomach rumbled; a plate of mac and cheese really wouldn’t go amiss right now.

Spock was nowhere to be seen. He drank the water, and was staring into the bottom of the empty glass when the door chime rang. 

Spock was holding a tray of food from the ship’s galley—with two portions of dinner on it. 

He put it down on the table started eating. Jim didn’t need any encouragement; he took his plate and tucked in. 

The silence was less oppressive than it had been before and made a change from everyone trying to talk to him and voice their opinion. Being in Spock’s company was relaxing and the sleep had done him good, but he was still tired. 

“I sure flew off the handle with Reid, eh?” Jim said. 

Spock knitted his brow. “You raised your voice.”

“I did a bit more than that, Spock.”

“Mr. Scott was impressed.”

“Spock, are you trying to make me feel better?” He stared wide-eyed. 

“No, I am simply stating facts.”

“I nearly ripped the guy’s head off!”

“I doubt your arms would be able to provide the point five four kilo Newtons of force necessary to detach a human head from its body.”

Jim had had his fork half way to his mouth, but he stopped dead when he heard that. 

“You know how much force it would take to rip someone’s head off? How?”

“It is information readily accessible in the Starfleet databases.”

“But why would you look up something like that?”

“Acquiring knowledge is always a good thing.”

Jim laughed. Well, Reid could definitely have run into someone worse, he supposed. 

“Thanks,” he said and put his hand on Spock’s knee and squeezed it. 

Spock lifted his spirits in such simple ways. He let go of the Vulcan’s knee, stroked his fingers along the strong jaw bone, extending the caress to the pale ear; it made him grin when he reached the point.

“You can stroke my ears too, Spock.”

Spock did—it tickled and made him laugh. 

“It is easier to please you than I had previously thought,” Spock said.

“You know, once we’ve finished dinner, what would you like to do?”

“I might attempt to meditate. Would you join me?”

He eyed Spock.

“Subtlety is not your forte, Spock. But sure, you could teach me a few tricks. Some techniques to try on my own?”

He didn’t really need to meditate, that wouldn’t deal with the cause of his problems. But just having Spock around was improving his mood enough to allow himself to relax a little, and his heart warmed at the thought of them spending more time together.

“Certainly, if that is what you wish.”

Jim laughed. Spock would turn him into a Vulcan yet.

***

It was good to get off the _Enterprise_ and down to Saketh again; Jim closed his eyes at the feel of the cool wind on his face. It was refreshing. He just wished Spock could have accompanied him. After teaching him some meditation techniques last night, his first officer had broached the topic of the Katric Ark. He’d explained that while he’d prefer to be the one to examine the chamber, he’d rather Jim or Sulu examined it now than wait for the doctor to declare him fit for duty.

At the thought of going back into the underground city he felt some trepidation, but most of the city was secure and had been examined now. It was only the Katric Ark that they’d kept off-limits. Whether it really was the cause for Spock’s alarming behavior or not was still unclear, but he really needed to understand what had happened to his first officer, and the Ark was currently their best guess. 

Sulu stepped up to him. “Sir, are you ready to go?”

Jim nodded his head. “Let’s do this.”

***

Jim looked down at the tricorder readouts; a detailed layout of the Katric Ark appeared on it. He studied it.

“Do we have any idea yet why our scanners can map out every underground chamber apart from this one?”

“No, Captain,” Sulu answered. “By all accounts our tricorders should be able to scan the Ark just as well as any other chamber. But always… nothing.”

The tricorder in Jim’s hand blinked… it showed a detailed map of the Ark chamber that lay just a couple of steps ahead of them. 

Jim studied it then looked up again. “Well, since we’ve gotten no readings at all from it, we’ll just have to go in blind and find out what’s going on. Spock’s the only one whose mind this place has been messing with, so hopefully, we should be fine.”

The chamber was just as he remembered it; just as intimidating. 

“I can’t help but feel like we’re not supposed to be here,” Sulu whispered. 

Jim nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Let’s… let’s just try to take some readings and get out of here again as quickly as possible.”

The tricorder readings were interesting, Jim thought. There patterns in the polycrystalline matrix of the stones… .

He looked at Sulu. “My tricorder’s still not reading anything.”

“Mine isn’t either.”

“Fine, let’s see if there’s something here that isn’t screwed down that we can take back to the ship where we’ve got better sensors.”

***

Two nights later, Jim was sitting on the floor of his quarters trying to meditate. He’d hoped that his trip to Saketh would have solved the mystery of what had affected Spock, but they were no closer than they were before. The science department was still looking over the carved stones they’d brought back from the Ark. So far all they’d told him was that they were stones. That had carvings on them. Thanks for that, guys!

Jim took a deep breath—he realized his meditation session wasn’t going very well. Then the door chime rang. 

“Come in,” he said and got up off the floor. “Bones, sit down. Can I offer you anything?” he asked anxiously. 

There was no way he wanted things to stay strained between them. They had to make up somehow, or he’d soon find a way to actually get those point five four kilo Newtons of force to take someone’s head off.

Bones smiled, sat down, and accepted a drink. 

“How’re you, Jim?”

“Fine, thanks, yourself?”

Bones smiled. “I’m good, and glad to hear you’re doing alright, kid. Cheers!”

They raised their glasses and sipped their drinks. 

“You know I’d never tell anyone, don’t you?” Bones said. 

“I know.” Jim chuckled quietly. “I know you wouldn’t and I’m really sorry that you’re in this position. I wish that I could have prevented it. I… I didn’t know if this would go anywhere, but now I think it might. Still—and I have my reasons for this, you’ve gotta trust me—I can’t bring myself to inform the admiralty and make this relationship public knowledge.”

“Shit, I really hope you know what you’re doing. But don’t worry, I’m not going to try and find out who it is,” Bones said. “And don’t tell me—I’ve changed my mind. If I knew then maybe I would find myself forced to report it, which I don’t want to do.”

“Yeah, I think it’s best too if you don’t know, in case they do find out—the less you know in that case, the better; you shouldn’t have to pay ‘cause I’m not following regulations. I don’t feel good keeping it a secret, but the alternative is worse.”

“I trust that this is all worth it to you,” Bones grumbled. “I’m being serious. I know why you flipped out in Engineering. The stress of this relationship is getting to you—you have enough on your plate without adding to your worries. Maybe you need to sit down and think about what your priorities are.”

Jim stared at the glass in his hand. The doc had a point. 

He was about to ask Bones how he’d found out in the first place when the door chime rang again. It was Spock. 

Jim jumped. Then he scolded himself. Bones didn’t even suspect it was Spock, he was sure of that. Well, not absolutely sure, but pretty sure. With all the bars they’d been to at the academy, Bones knew his tastes—but he hadn’t met any of the half-dozen people he’d had short flings or one-night-stands with, apart from Gaila. As far as Bones was concerned his ideal date looked, well, more female for a start. His ex-girlfriends Carol and Ying had both been quite fond of Bones. 

He briefly wondered what Carol was up to these days; they hadn’t talked since they broke up just under a year ago. With Spock it was completely different from how it had been with her. He really liked Spock; he loved him as a friend, deeply. He wondered briefly if that was what Bones had been talking about when he’d ridiculed his idea of love—that love was attraction, was sex. Because… it didn’t matter that he was having sex with Spock, his feelings for Spock would be no different if he wasn’t.

“Am I interrupting?” Spock inquired. 

“No, not at all,” Bones said. “I don’t want to delay an important meeting or anything. And Spock, remember to call me so we can arrange that physical.”

Spock nodded as Bones left the room. 

The conversation was swirling around in Jim’s mind. Was it worth all the paranoia, worth putting Bones in a horrible position… worth his sanity as a captain?

Jeez, this was so important! He didn't want to lose the closeness he had with Spock now, but he couldn’t continue like this, that much was clear. 

“Jim?”

“Mmmmh? Sorry, I was just thinking.”

Then Spock kissed him.

He’d have to talk to Spock, but it didn’t have to be tonight, did it?

***

“We need to follow those murderers,” Scotty said, “before the trail gets too cold. Sir.”

“I realize that, Mr. Scott,” Jim replied.

His chief engineer clenched his jaw. 

“Scotty,” Jim said, walking past the other senior officers in the briefing lounge to stand next to him, “we’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

When Scotty nodded, Jim looked around the table. His eyes came to rest on Spock. 

“I have plotted an approximate trajectory for the pirate ship based on the data our long range sensors picked up after the attack,” Spock said. “They appear to have headed for the Dessica system.”

“There are several starbases within a few light-years of Dessica. It’ll be a bit like searching for a needle in a haystack,” Uhura said. 

“Right,” Jim replied. “Sulu, what’s the status of our investigation on Saketh? How long do you need?”

“We can finish today. I’ve still not got anything new on the Katric Ark, but Commander Spock had a look at them and we’ll try some more scans today on the artifacts we brought back. We finally have the basics covered so we can report everything back to Headquarters.” 

“Good. Send me the details when you get them. We have to get this right and highlight all the positives. I don’t want to lose this planet to some pirates.”

He saw Spock raise an eyebrow at that. 

“We’ll do our best to understand the pirate threat so we can present it as a problem that can be solved.”

“And how are we going to do that now?” Bones asked. “Let’s backtrack here to what Lieutenant Uhura was saying… all these lawless starbases to visit, but we’re in the fleet’s flagship. The minute any pirates see us they’ll all be gone quick as lightning.”

Jim studied the locations of starbases on the map. “There’s one that the Federation has dealings with. I suggest we start our search there. We’ll be more likely to find people willing to talk to us there and we can pick up supplies.”

Scotty nodded. “Yeah we need a new base-grid for one of the plasma networks, we’re running low on titanium sheets and don’t get me started on the power couplers. If they have any dilithium crystals, well, we need one, but I’d need to see some excellent trader credentials to pick one up from such a scumbase.”

“Anything else you need, Mr. Scott?”

“A new cage for my tribble and some deli-sandwiches wouldn’t go amiss.”

With that, the meeting ended. As his senior staff left the room, Bones stopped Spock.

“Physical, zero seven hundred hours tomorrow morning.” 

Spock tilted his head to one side slightly. “I have not forgotten, Doctor.”

“No, didn’t think you would, but then again I just want to make it clear that this is non-negotiable. I won’t accept any ‘oh, the warp core was overloading, so I couldn’t come’ bullshit. I know we’re heading away from Saketh, but you’re getting a full physical and psych examination before you set foot on that space station we’re going to.”


	18. Chapter 18

In fact Spock did find a way to get out of the physical Bones wanted him to have; Jim was impressed. Now he was standing in front of a fuming Chief Medical Officer, though. 

“Jim, why is Spock repairing data substations instead of sitting in sickbay?”

“We’ve completed our scans, but we need the final few substations finished by tonight before we can leave for the starbase.”

“Jim, really? I know you can fix those substations. Why aren’t you down there instead of Spock? I’m sure you’re the better man for the job.”

“I’m the captain, I’m busy! And because I nearly ripped off Reid’s head when I went down there last time, remember?”

“Yeah, so what? Give the guy the boot. He does sound like a real ass.

“Oh don’t look so downcast, Jim, it was inevitable that you’d snap at some point with all this pressure on you. At least it was during repairs in Engineering and not during a crisis, like Spock on the bridge."

“He’d just lost his home planet, Bones.”

“I know. You don’t need to remind me.” The doctor ran his hands through his hair. “I have no frigging clue how I would’ve survived that and carried on working. I know we all have to. It’s our duty as Starfleet officers, but think about it, Jim, how would you have dealt with it had it been Earth? Even if the adrenaline had taken you through the shock and got you working off pure anger, then what? He’s going frigging nuts, I’m telling you. No one can bottle up so much pain. I’m really worried for Spock—I want him down in sickbay for a full psych evaluation.”

“I’ve seen his psych eval, it was clear.”

“Yeah, the same tick-box exercise they put the whole crew through? Everyone showed up as clear on that one. Do you think that means no one on this ship was affected by what happened?”

Jim shook his head. “Of course not.”

“Has he talked to you about the destruction of Vulcan?”

Jim focused on the blank wall behind Bones.

“You said he and Uhura had broken up? I guess he’s had no one he’s been able to talk to since then. Maybe you should try and get closer to him, get him to come out of his shell a bit.”

Jim nodded slowly.

***

Spock was standing outside Jim’s quarters. Jim was quick to let him inside.

"Hey," he said, grinning. "I wasn’t expecting you—not tonight, not after the non-stop work you’ve been doing in engineering."

Not that Jim had wanted him or Scotty to take a break. He was glad they'd worked until the repairs were complete. The _Enterprise_ had finally pulled out of orbit around Saketh and was on its way to hunt pirates.

"But you're definitely not unwelcome company," Jim added.

The sight of Spock’s face, the pointy ears and those dark eyes, all caused his smile to widen even further.

Spock stood stiff, his hands clasped firmly behind his back and his eyes on Jim, his gaze so alert. This intensity was something Jim relished, the way Spock made him feel like the only thing in the universe worthy of attention.

He swallowed hard, closed the gap between them quickly and kissed him. Then Spock cupped his jaw with his left hand and looked right at him. There was an uncharacteristic softness in the dark eyes that he hadn’t seen in a while; it made his heart sing. Being allowed to occasionally see behind that mask meant so much to him. 

Jim breathed out slowly… it was these precious few moments that made him realize how difficult it was for him to be with someone so undemonstrative of their feelings. 

There was a loud beep from his computer. He stiffened on the spot. Just a comm call—but his heart was beating as hard as a hammer.

“Sorry, let me see to this,” he mumbled and took the call from the bridge.

They informed him that the _Enterprise_ would now be passing through a patch of poorly charted space. 

He terminated the connection and turned back to Spock. “This has gotten a bit out of hand, hasn’t it?”

Spock composed himself in the likeness of an ancient Greek statue, his skin marble white.

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” Jim said quickly.

“Although the Vulcan Standard dialect does not contain any illogical idioms as the United Earth one does, I none the less understood your meaning perfectly.”

Jim didn’t know what to say to that. So he decided to ignore Spock’s reply.

“What I mean is… this. The way you just looked at me… ,” he felt a small lump forming in his throat. “We had this urge to explore, and we have, and it’s been absolutely amazing. But now, I feel... .”

Jim looked away, he was lost for words.

“Are you alright, Jim?”

He’d been chewing on his bottom lip. Was he alright? He was confused by all the emotions that were suddenly flowing through him. There was a PADD on the chair by his desk—he put it away and sat down.

“What do you think? When a captain jumps at the sound of a mere comm call to his quarters—that’s never a good sign.” He dug his fingers into his chair's armrests. “Hell no, I’m not alright.”

He put his hands over his eyes and rubbed at them with the palms of his hands, before slamming his hand flat on his desk in frustration.

Spock stepped closer to him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Jim turned away and focused on how cool the surface of the desk was. He could feel the heat rising to his face though and the intensity of the fire in his heart was steadily increasing. 

“This is just a completely unsatisfactory situation we’re in right now, don’t you agree?” He still didn’t look at Spock.

This was hard enough to say as it was—he wasn’t used to talking about his feelings. He didn’t know how to articulate them well and the language center in his brain was refusing to co-operate, as his emotions just came pouring out.

“I can’t take it any longer! I’m jumpy, frustrated and, on top of all that, paranoid that someone will find out about us. The secrecy of all this has left my sanity in absolute tatters and I can’t afford that.”

He took a deep breath and allowed his anger to calm a bit, so his expression only showed the heartache that he felt when he finally turned his head to face his lover. Spock looked as expressionless as before, although he’d put some distance between them. 

“Damnit, Spock, I need more than just sex for this to be worth my while, you know? This, whatever it is we have, it’s got to take some kind of miracle turn. It has to be… it’s got to be a real relationship.”

“You wish for us to go public and inform our superiors?”

Jim shook his head vehemently. “Do you know what they’d think of me and my command decisions if they knew about this? They’d tell me I was compromised. No, I know we’d still have to keep this secret, but I need us to start exploring our feelings, our romantic feelings, for one another.”

He placed his hands on his chest, above his heart, and closed his eyes. Even if they were still new and needed time to grow, he was sure that Spock did have such feelings for him.

“Jim.”

He opened his eyes again. Spock’s mouth was slightly open, as if he’d wanted to say something, but had thought better of it. Or maybe he just needed Jim to spell it out for him, cutting through all the emotional words and phrases.

He sagged back into his chair and with the wave of a hand invited Spock to take a seat opposite him. Spock remained where he was, though.

Jim took a deep breath. “I don’t like how pleading my voice sounds right now. I don’t like the way I’m feeling, don’t like this place, it’s far from an ideal situation. Either we take the next step in this relationship or,… .”

He sighed and buried his head in his hands. “I can’t take this anymore. Either a proper, normal relationship or nothing!”

He looked up and once again motioned for Spock to sit down. His hands were shaking from finally putting all his pent up frustration out there in the open, from admitting to his feelings for Spock, feelings that went beyond some sexual curiosity, some need for physical comfort, but that were far deeper.

Spock’s emotions seemed to be equally in turmoil as his chest was heaving, and Jim felt his insides twist in a way he hadn’t felt since he’d been a nervous teenager in love for the first time.

Then Spock let out a long breath and drew himself up straighter. “I must think. If you would excuse me.”

It wasn’t a question, for he turned on his heels immediately and left Jim’s quarters without looking back.

Jim was dumbfounded. That was not the reaction he was expecting or hoping for. The tension didn’t leave his body and he paced his quarters, chewing on his lip until he finally went to bed. He lay there, just staring at the ceiling until he fell asleep in the early hours of the morning.

***

The next day during shift Jim glanced over at Spock, but he couldn’t see any change in behavior. Spock was his calm, professional self. Jim sipped his coffee. When he’d finished it he got up and walked over to Spock, standing behind him, so he could look at the readouts from the science station.

“Anything interesting, Mr. Spock?”

“Not at present, Captain. The star charts we have of this area have so far proven to be reliable enough for our purposes—we have encountered no unexpected phenomena.”

Jim nodded and tried to think of a reason to linger. Something funny he could say, some reason to touch Spock’s shoulder, do anything—but his mind went unusually blank and so he just moved on quickly. He looked around the bridge, but no one seemed to have been paying him and Spock any attention.

Bones burst onto the bridge. “Get your ass down to medical!”

Jim jumped involuntarily. It wasn’t him Bones was after, though; his friend was heading for the science station. 

Spock turned calmly in his seat. “I assure you, once my shift is—.”

“No.” Bones fixed Spock with his best glare. “You’re coming right now.”

Jim chuckled. 

“What?” Bones snapped. 

“You’re trying to outstare a Vulcan!”

“Don’t think I can do it? Just watch me.” 

Bones pointedly turned to face Spock again, his eyes narrowed. It was blue versus blue. Jim knew he was going red in the face from trying to suppress a fit of laughter. 

Then Spock got up. 

“Doctor,” he said. 

Jim wished he had a holo-camera on him to capture the look on Spock’s face; it was priceless to see him so completely exasperated and irritated. He couldn’t hold back any longer and started laughing out loud. 

When they’d left the bridge and he had calmed down again he reflected on the reactions of his bridge officers. Some were still obviously recovering from trying to hide their own amusement, but others were giving him odd looks. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. While the feelings he now had for Spock had crept up on him slowly, he was no fool and recognized them for what they were—but he hoped no one else did. 

He would not take back what he’d said to Spock last night. He wanted their relationship to progress. He’d heard of close friends becoming lovers, but it had never happened to him before until now. He was nervous. Spock’s reaction—it had not been promising, to put it mildly, but then even though he knew Spock well, he was unsure how to interpret it. The guy did like to think things over, it didn’t have to mean he was going to say no… .

When he was off-duty he took his dinner from the galley to his quarters so he could eat alone. Pushing aside the dread he felt building in his stomach—it was ridiculous really, Spock cared about him, he knew that—he worked through reports on the starbase they were going to visit. He needed to know everything about its layout, its history, and the people who visited it and those who lived there.


	19. Chapter 19

Late that night, Spock came by Jim’s quarters. Jim was getting ready for bed; he’d only just finished reading the reports on the starbase. 

“Come through,” he called from his sleeping area. 

His back to the door, he quickly he put on a nightshirt. They needed to talk seriously about their relationship, it was something they’d both put off for far too long—possibly too long. It felt like it was the end, but it couldn’t be, he told himself, as he’d been telling himself for the past twenty four hours; there was no good, logical reason why Spock would suddenly end this. 

What he felt for Spock was clearly love, the real kind this time; he just had to tell Spock and... then they could talk about all the other issues. Spock would stay the night in his quarters, and then maybe Jim would sometimes go to his. They’d wake up together in the morning, they’d—the mental image of Spock cuddling with him in bed flashed in front of his mind’s eye—okay, scratch that, he couldn't imagine Vulcans being cuddly, but they’d have breakfast together. He’d make fun of the weird things Vulcans described as edible, while Spock would call him illogical for only eating things he enjoyed instead of foodstuffs that had the right balance of nutrients. 

The sound of Spock’s footsteps let him know that Spock had stepped past the partition. Please don’t end this, Spock, he thought before turning around. 

“Spock.” A nervous smile twisted Jim’s lips.

Maybe, Jim continued his thoughts, if only they could sort this out, then one day down the line Spock would tell him he loved him. 

Jim’s eyes took in Spock’s precise haircut, his face… so handsome with those dark eyes and devilish eyebrows… and his nose; Jim just loved Spock’s nose in every single way. He could already feel his body becoming agitated by the physical distance between them. That’s not how it's meant to be, his muscles seemed to scream at him, get close to him, touch him and let him touch you. Obeying them, he walked away from his wardrobe and up to Spock who’d planted himself just past the threshold to his sleeping area. 

Spock didn’t move towards him; he stayed rooted to the floor, head tall, hands hidden behind his back. Jim didn’t take the last step that would’ve taken him right up close to Spock. His heart started beating faster, and it was hurting. The feeling that Spock might not care about their relationship the same way he did was clawing at his left ventricle and hammering at his right chamber. 

He needed some kind of sign from Spock—that what he knew deep down to be true was wrong… that Spock hadn’t made up his mind already. He’d tried desperately to convince himself that it wasn’t going to happen, that he’d not screwed things up with the only person he’d ever fallen in love with, that they’d be able to talk this over reasonably. But the evidence was staring him right in the face now and he couldn’t escape it. 

But… hope, he had to have hope, rather than jumping to conclusions. He reached out to touch the pale face. Spock allowed it—Jim breathed out, but it didn’t soothe his heart.

“Jim. I must inform you that I have thought long over what you said yesterday.” 

The voice was steady, but somewhere Jim thought, in the deeper tones of his rich voice, he heard a certain raw quality he’d not heard there in a long time. He wanted to run away, he didn’t want to hear those next words, but he forced himself to stay still. 

“I would prefer to return our relationship to a purely platonic one.”

It was as if Spock had poured a bucket of ice water over him, drowning all hope. The way Spock looked at him, the way he always kissed him—soft and yet passionate at the same time… .

He didn’t raise his voice, he was too confused, he must have misunderstood Spock. “So, what? You don’t care about me at all? This… it meant nothing to you?”

“I am your friend and I always will be.” As Spock spoke, the coldness melted out of his eyes and they looked at Jim with a warm intensity. He placed his hand over Jim’s and squeezed it firmly.

Jim looked away, he didn’t want Spock to see the pain he knew would be so visible in his eyes. He should’ve listened to his intuition from day one. Spock cared about him, yes, but the Vulcan had never opened himself up to this as much as he had. And now that Jim had fallen in love with him… he had this feeling, this simple emotion, which the alien couldn’t return; or didn’t want to. 

Cold fingertips brushed over Jim’s index and middle finger. Jim blinked. Then Spock was leaning in for a kiss; for one last kiss. This was all so wrong, this couldn’t be real. When their lips met it was as if it all wasn’t happening—his world was still intact and Spock wasn’t breaking up with him. 

And then it was all over. 

Jim looked down at his feet as Spock walked out of his quarters and the door closed behind him.

***

Jim walked numbly towards sickbay. It had been almost a week; shouldn’t he at least be feeling a bit better? He was glad he’d not had to share the bridge with Spock since their break-up. Bones had saved him from that; once he’d examined Spock, he’d immediately cleared his first officer to work with all the stuff that had been brought up from Saketh—since then Spock had shut himself away in a lab with the carved stones from the Katric ark.

Yeah, good old Bones. They could be bitter together—he'd understand. When he entered sickbay he didn’t look up until he’d already taken more than ten paces into the room. He could hear the doctor’s voice. Then he looked up… and stopped. He was standing only a couple of beds down from where Spock was lying, listening to Bones.

“Are you sure you feel alright?” Bones said, waving his tricorder over his patient.

“I assure you, Doctor, there is nothing you can do for me.”

Spock’s eyes met Jim’s, then and he got down off the bed. “If that is all, I have work to attend to in preparation for our imminent arrival at the spacestation.”

Bones scowled but let him go. Jim stared after him as he walked past. Spock was still the same person, he looked no different and yet… he was; in Jim's mind anyway. Bones stepped closer.

“That Vulcan is driving me mad. He’s the most difficult patient I’ve ever had to deal with, and I’ve had to deal with you, so that’s saying something.”

Jim clenched his jaw. “How is he?”

“You mean apart from the mint green water in his veins? Fine, I’m sure! If I’m to believe him.”

“What does that mean?”

Bones threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t know! I’ve been monitoring him all week and the readings started out okay, but they’ve been getting stranger by the day… but nothing that would indicate he’s necessarily ill. I’ll have to look over them again. The other tests, well, I’m still waiting for the results.”

Jim frowned. “I was hoping to have him on my away team.”

Bones sighed. “I guess I can’t demand he stays behind. But, just for the record, he’s one hell of an uncooperative patient. Keep an eye on your friend for me, okay?” Bones smiled thinly. 

The word ‘friend’ had Jim blinking for a moment, then he managed a flat smile in return. He didn’t feel like talking to Bones all of a sudden—he had work to do anyway, so he made his excuses.

***

Spacestation Luria II was busy; Federation vessels, both fleet and private, lay in dock there next to Antedean, Rigelian and Lysian ships. No one batted an eyelid at the arrival of the _Enterprise_. The station was grimy, a far cry from the clean Federation operated bases. Jim walked with Scotty, Chekov, Spock and the rest of his away team through the connection tunnel onto the station; all of them were wearing civilian clothing.

“Mr. Scott, you know what to do,” he said once they’d exited the tunnel. 

“Aye."

Jim nodded and then addressed the ten man strong away team. “What we need to know is who came to Saketh and attacked us. We must find out if pirate activity near Saketh is regular—if a new colony would be in danger.”

They split the group up into equal numbers and then Scotty set off with his half. “Lads, let’s get going! Come on, we dinnae have all day!” 

That left Jim with Spock, Chekov and Ensigns Howard and Li. 

"Now… while we’ll start off slow, our aim is to find out more than a few rumors can tell us about the situation—that might mean parting with some hard cash. So, we’ll need that and we’ll also need to get out of these clothes we’re wearing, since they’re the height of Federation fashion—well, mine are, I’m not too sure about the Commander’s… .” He put on a cocky grin, but he really wasn’t feeling it. “We want to look a bit rougher, so… let’s go shopping.”

Once they’d set off he walked in step next to Spock. “Mr. Spock, I'm going to have to ask you to hide that you’re Vulcan—you’ll have to pretend to be Romulan.”

It wasn’t something Spock would have to put any effort into, really. They were closer to Romulan than Federation territory now, and with so few Vulcans left he’d really have to point out the fact that he was Vulcan, say, by using “logical” in every other sentence, for anyone to jump to that conclusion—or so Jim hoped anyway. Starfleet didn’t have a clue what Romulans looked like beyond Nero; it was the Vulcan intelligence agency that had held most of the files on Romulans.

Spock nodded once. Jim smiled and hurried on ahead of Spock, putting himself in the lead once more. He was relieved that Spock was not acting any differently towards him than usual—at least on duty. They hadn’t talked at all; how was this situation going to affect their friendship? Jim focused on the sound of Spock’s footfall just behind his… at the familiar sound he felt a sliver of relief loosen the tension in his shoulders.

They headed to the main deck. When they arrived there Jim looked over his shoulder and, sure enough, Spock was standing right behind him. He turned his head forward again quickly. 

The main deck of the station was very large. Tall, black metal pillars held up the high, copper-colored ceiling, while shops lined a promenade below, built in a style reminiscent of Andor Prime’s capital city. Jim assumed the station had been extended, refurbished and repaired whenever there had been resources available; Andorian style had been in vogue almost fifty years ago and it seemed that since then, the station’s fortunes had taken a turn for the worse. None of the newer looking structures on the main deck were anywhere near as opulent. Jim wondered at that as the station seemed very busy now.

“Wait,” Jim said. “That bar looks particularly seedy.”

He pointed at one of the newest, but also most shoddily erected, structures. “We should go there first.”

“Are you certain that is a bar?” Spock asked.

“Believe me, the lack of any signs outside is the mark of true seediness. They probably don’t even have glasses. I say we all go in there as if we’re naïve tourists ‘looking for adventure’.”

Spock raised an eyebrow but the others only nodded.

“If that doesn’t work of course,” he said, “then we’ll just have to improvise.”

Jim had been right. Most of the clientele were drinking out of bottles; the occasional alien was using a badly stained or chipped earthenware mug. There were industrial canisters on a shelf behind a small table at which the owner sat. Everyone was eyeing them.

Jim banged his fist down on the owner’s table.

“What do you people want?” The man looked at him suspiciously. “We’re closed.”

“Doesn’t look closed to me.”

“Private party, can’t you tell?”

“No.”

“Get out.”

Jim turned to the others and shrugged slightly. Then he reached over the table and pulled the man up by his collar. The bar guests all quickly scrambled out, leaving them alone with the owner.

“We’re just friendly tourists,” Jim said, “who’re looking for a bit of an adventure. Also, I hear there’s a lot of money to be made catching pirates.”

“You don’t look like bounty hunters,” he grumbled.

“Don’t you worry who we are,” Jim said, letting go of him. “Tell me all the news on the pirate front. Where do they spend their loot, where might we catch some?”

“I don’t know what they told you, but this spacestation is poor. They won’t pay you much for catching the pirates.”

Jim raised his eyebrows. “They attack this station? I was under the impression that most stations this size were too large to be attacked by pirates.”

The man snorted. 

“Tell me more,” Jim pressed.

The man rolled his eyes and poured himself a drink. The guy had obviously decided that Jim did fit the ‘stupid tourist’ bill after all—and that was fine by Jim as long as the man kept talking.

Spock stepped out of Jim’s shadow to stand next to him. “Keep talking.”

The guy almost choked on his drink. “Um… they say, just rumors mind you,… they say that they destroyed a Romulan ship a month ago. The pirates are lead by Kroth. A Klingon. Must have fallen out with the Empire. He united the pirates, got them organized and manages to pull off successful raids on large stations like this. Calls himself Vod’pah—pirate king.

He waited for Spock to react, but when he didn’t, he continued quickly. “They aren’t scared of attacking Federation ships either. I’m lucky I could set up my bar here—they’ve hired some mercenaries to defend this place at least.”

“See that wasn’t so hard after all,” Jim said, flashing him a wide grin. “Oh... and do you know where we might exchange Federation credits for hard cash?” 

The man’s eyes kept flicking towards Spock. “There’s a store called P.L.K. on the main deck. The vendor there deals in currency.”

Jim gave him a mock salute. As they left the bar, Spock turned to Jim and said, “If those rumors are true, then the pirates present a substantial threat to a colony on Saketh.”

Klingons—they just had to ruin everything, didn’t they?


	20. Chapter 20

They’d found the shop called P.L.K.. It was a busy clothes shop, so it was perfect—they could exchange their credits for hard cash and get their disguises here at the same time. Jim had sent Chekov off to look for the owner, while everyone else was to look for clothes that said: ‘I’m an outlaw, don’t mess with me’. 

As the ensigns all shuttled off into the crowd, Jim and Spock headed towards a row at the back of the shop. The clothes there were mostly dark colored and Jim decided they looked pretty badass.

"Hey, what about this jacket, Spock? Think it might suit you?"

Spock looked at the jacket which Jim had taken off its hanger. An eyebrow was raised. Jim felt his heart beat faster. Please, just take the damned jacket, he thought. All I want is a sign that we’re okay, because if we aren’t… I don’t think I could stand that. 

Eventually Spock reached out and not only took the jacket, he tried it on, too. 

"You’re going to wear it?" Jim asked biting his lower lip. 

"Certainly," Spock replied.

A smile spread across Jim’s face. 

“That jacket makes you look mean,” he teased. 

Spock took a step towards him. They’d already been standing close before, but now Jim could feel Spock's breath on his face. When he looked into the dark brown eyes his mouth went dry. Jim swallowed hard and turned away quickly. 

Someone was jogging towards them; Jim took a step back and looked over Spock’s shoulder. It was Chekov. 

"I have found the owner. He says he’s interested to svap large amounts of credits for latinum. Ve should meet him outside in exactly ten minutes."

They grabbed some clothes, and Jim also found some duffle bags for their purchases—they could get changed into them later. Spock was talking to Chekov a few steps away.

Jim clenched his fists; he was trying to get over Spock. If Spock didn’t want to be with him anymore, he could deal with that. And if Spock regretted his choice to break things off with him, if logic was failing to guide his green Vulcan heart, well, he should keep it to himself. Jim didn’t want to know about it unless Spock actually decided to get back with him, because what Spock had done, walk up to him as if to lean in for a kiss, was cruel. He’d hoped Spock would be considerate of his feelings; but it seemed the guy had the emotional intelligence of an amoeba.

***

A light skinned man with large blue ears was waiting outside for them. "Welcome to this humble starbase, dear travelers. My name is Pel Lak Kar. I hear you are all in need of some hard cash?"

"Yeah, that’s right. And the name’s Jim.” 

After all, how many people, especially aliens, knew Jim was short for James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_?

Pel nodded and then turned to Spock. "And just to clarify, sir, I don't have any Romulan Dinari. I would never deal in the currency of the Star Empire."

“Of course not,” Spock replied.

The man frowned at Spock, probably unsure whether he was being sarcastic or not. 

Pel then motioned for the whole group to follow him. He took them right through the crowds on the main deck. Jim had been worried everyone would recognize him and Spock from the newscasts, especially since the _Enterprise_ was in dock here, but only humans occasionally glanced at them twice. 

Maybe the aliens couldn't tell the difference between him and any other humans. After all, every Klingon looked the same to him, and with their identical hairstyles and robes Vulcans all looked alike too—apart from Spock. He'd be able to spot him in a crowd of Vulcans, he was sure of that. A small hard lump had formed in his throat at that thought. Jim pointedly avoided looking at Spock as they continued to follow the pair of blue ears that was confidently weaving its way through the throng of people. In the clothes shop Spock had acted like a complete dick—why had he done that? Now Jim’s mind was racing with possibilities and his heart was starting to hope again; he hated Spock for doing that to him.

They entered a small access tunnel at the end of which was a small room; Pel unlocked it with a swipe card. Inside was a safe that was connected to a computer terminal. Jim recognised it as a Young & Alan F-Series model. The safe wouldn't open until the electronic transaction was complete; and when it did it would only spit out as much money as had been agreed upon. The security was decent on such systems, but there was a weak Huffman encoding in one of the subroutines... Jim stopped those thoughts in their tracks—he wasn’t seventeen anymore, he’d moved on from that life. And besides, they'd probably upgraded the security on those terminals sometime in the last decade. He sighed softly to himself. Could the leopard ever change its spots?

Jim handed over his account chip.

"How much do you want to change?"

“All of it," he replied.

"Running from something?"

Jim glared at him. 

The alien examined Jim’s accounts and scowled. “A lot of this is United Earth credits. I can’t accept those, they're utterly useless. Right, so that's 8,000 Federation credits, which is 2 bars worth of latinum.”

Jim folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes.

"That should be at least 3 bars.”

“Not the most competitive rate,” the alien replied smoothly, “but what did you expect? Federation credits are worthless."

Jim knew that was true—with 8,000 credits he could buy a lot, but only within the Federation. On the galactic market the credit had no value. The Vulcans had been the only ones to trade well beyond the Federation’s borders; the other worlds being either too suspicious to trade outside the borders or overly protective of their own markets. 

He thought maybe he should put up more of a fight for realism's sake, but then again he didn’t want to spend all day here.

"I’ll take your latinum," he said.

"Is that all?"

"Wait," Spock said and handed over a chip of his own.

"Same thing? All the credits?"

Spock nodded. When the alien examined it, his eyebrows shot up. 

"That's 230,000 credits. A pretty tidy sum, more than the whole planet of Zerox receives from the Federation in one year for use of their mining facilities. I don't have that much latinum. I have a contact though... a wealthy merchant with his own ship. Don't ask me what business he does, I'm sure it's unsavory."

Spock barely signaled to Jim but he knew Spock was asking for instructions. Jim nodded gently, while Spock still had the merchant fixed in his gaze. He wondered briefly how Spock had amassed so much, but then again, he could imagine Spock being the kind to save and never spend. 

"Take us to him," Spock said. "You will get your commission."

The clothes shop owner nodded enthusiastically, greed lighting up his eyes. Jim and Pel wrapped up their deal, and the bottled liquid latinum was hidden away in Jim’s bag, but it was nowhere near enough to bribe the kind of people Jim had in mind to approach; the station’s custom officers, for example. 

“Can you take us to your contact now?” Jim asked. 

All five of them were led to a bar. Clearly this wealthy merchant owned more than just a ship. If the décor was anything to go by they were far from the main deck now; pipes were no longer hidden in the bulkhead walls and there was litter in every corner. They were led through to the back of the bar, behind the counter to a small room, where Pel left them. Inside half a dozen guards, armed with weapons chosen to impress with their large size, watched their every move. They waited. 

Eventually a slender red skinned woman entered; Pel was standing at her shoulder. 

“We will meet the boss at his ship,” she said sweetly. “There you can discuss the trade, but the cash will be handed over to you here at the bar. For security reasons, of course.”

Jim could see Chekov measuring up the guards and he couldn’t help but agree with his navigator—the sooner they left this ‘bar’, the better.

***

The red woman, Pel, and the guards stood back at a respectable distance once they arrived at the ship; trade negotiations needed to be held in private. Jim looked back over his shoulder at them. The leader of the guards patted his plasma rifle, the message clear: we won’t be listening in, but we’ll be watching. One step out of line and you’re all toast.

The ship itself was small and unglamorous, but it looked sturdy. There was a hiss and a door to the ship opened. The ugly little man stepping out of the ship had to be the merchant. His little beady eyes looked like those of a pig, Jim thought.

"My name is Quol."

"Jim," the captain replied. 

They didn’t shake hands, as it seemed that was not the convention. Instead a lengthy discussion of the terms and conditions and of the exchange rate followed. Jim knew his bartering skills were no match for this man’s, which was perfectly fine—he’d wanted to offer his man a good deal, the kind he wouldn’t want to turn away from, without it looking like a set-up, so this suited him well. 

“Now that the business side of the deal has been settled,” Jim said, “there’s still one issue that remains. Do you even have as much latinum as you claim? This isn’t a rich starbase, you can’t make much profit here. Where do you trade?”

“Why should I tell you that?”

“Why would you not tell us?”

Quol’s eyes flicked briefly to Spock. 

“So you’re a smuggler of Romulan technology?” Jim pressed on.

Right on cue Spock took a step towards Quol. 

“What?” the merchant sputtered. “No! Why would you even say such a thing? It’s a lie!” 

“Because there’s no other way you could possibly amass so much wealth.”

Judging by his reaction to Spock, Jim decided to believe him, though. People on this starbase all clearly had some kind of knowledge of the Romulans, but they couldn’t look exactly like Spock, surely? Especially the haircut, he thought. It was probably second hand knowledge at best. 

“Don’t even think about calling out to your guards,” Jim hissed. “We’ve already passed on your name and the details of your ship to the Romulans. If we die, then so will you. If you really are innocent then we’re the only ones who can set the record straight.”

“You’re bluffing,” Quol replied.

Jim looked over to Spock for help. 

“Your trading partners,” Spock prompted. 

Quol was silent for a while. Then Jim saw the fight leave his eyes. 

“Kroth,” the merchant said. “I traded with him. His men can’t pirate everything they need. But I swear I haven’t had any dealings with him since they destroyed the Romulan ship.”

Jim turned to look at his group. Behind them he could see Quol’s guards. 

Jim definitely considered himself the type to distrust overly elaborate plans, as he'd never known one to work out yet. When you planned as you went along, you were more flexible. In chess he made the right choices because the game’s strategy was ingrained in his mind through practice. He just had to look at a board to instinctively know what to do. The situation was similar now—he knew what his next move had to be even if he didn't yet understand how it would all play out.

He couldn’t do this alone, but he had to send someone to the _Enterprise_ with word of what was happening; someone who could take care of themselves. Not Spock… he needed him here. Ensign Li? He’d seen Ensign Li practice advanced hand to hand combat in the gym. Li might be the next best choice.

“Tell the others,” he addressed her in a hushed tone, “not to stop Quol’s ship.” Slightly louder he added. “He didn’t deal with Romulan smugglers after all.”

He stared at Quol and pointed towards the guards. “Tell them that she can go. Make it abundantly clear they’re not to stop her. Your life depends on it Quol. And once she’s left, we can continue our chat.”

Quol narrowed his eyes but complied quickly. He shouted his instructions to his guards. Jim’s heart beat frantically, but they let Li pass. 

"Who are you?" Quol hissed. 

Now Li was out of sight Jim could see Quol was standing taller.

"People you don't want to mess with,” Jim said. “Leave now. Take us to the pirate base.”

He made sure his back was to the guards as he carefully drew his phaser and pointed it in Quol’s direction. The others followed suit.

Jim nodded with his head towards the door of the ship. “Oh, and don’t forget to let your guards know not to shoot your new friends.”

***

So now they'd done it; stolen Quol’s ship. He knew Scotty would go nuts, but maybe he’d be able to follow them. And if not… hopefully they’d find their way back with all the knowledge they needed to wipe out the threat Kroth and his pirates posed to Saketh.

Jim divided his attention between watching Spock rifle through the craft’s navigation systems and keeping a good eye on Quol. They’d restrained him, but Jim still had his phaser aimed at the man’s chest. This was Quol’s ship after all—the merchant might still have a few tricks up his sleeve. 

"All but the most recent flight plans were deleted. I was, however, able to recover two hundred and twenty plans from the back-up magnetic memory banks," Spock said.

"I knew I shouldn't have skimped on the routine computer clean-ups," Quol cursed. "I hope the Romulans catch you all and boil you alive in a vat of warp core coolant!"

Chekov joined them in the cockpit. "Captain, the hull is from a typical Earth trading wessel, but the engines are from Andor, the weapons Klingon and there's a load more stuff I'm not too sure about."

"These controls are Romulan," Spock said.

"You're from the _Enterprise_ , aren't you?" Quol said.

Jim ignored him as he watched the spacestation, and with it the _Enterprise_ , become smaller and smaller on the viewscreen.

"I have rights!” Quol shouted. “You can't just steal my ship!"

As much as he wanted to say 'we just have', he knew he shouldn’t be admitting to that. 

"Steal? No, you’re simply assisting us. That's why you were trading with the pirates, wasn't it? To get their trust so you could help the Federation’s investigations into the matter of piracy against its vessels. Unless you were actually trading with them purely for your own profit? In which case..."

Jim raised his brows and smiled a sardonic grin. "I'm sure the Klingons or the Romulans would be interested in all this technology of theirs which you have on board this ship."

"You wouldn't dare! You'd have to hand me over to Starfleet—a Federation trial!"

"I think you'll find that as your crimes were committed outside our boundaries it would not be necessary to do so and we really want to improve relations with our neighbors—a few friendly gestures here and there are always appreciated."

The man had gone pale.

Jim turned away from him. “Ensign, what's in the ship’s cargo hold?”

“Alcohol, warious medicines, veapons, spare parts for Romulan sheeps… .”

"Alright," Quol said gruffly. “I’ll help.”

"Clever man.”

“Do you know the ways around here, where not to go, when to send out signals? You’ll have to let me go, because you’ll have to rely on me, or you’ll die in your stupid attempt to find the pirates.”

“We’ll see about that,” Jim said. “I have confidence in my officers and I also think you don’t want to die. You’ll give us all the vital information; you don’t want to risk anyone destroying this ship and killing everyone on board, do you now?”

All in all Jim thought he could trust Quol to look out for himself, but no more than that.


	21. Chapter 21

“Captain, I calculate that it will take us approximately five point three days to reach the pirate base.”

“Thank you, Mr. Spock.” Jim leaned on the cockpit and drummed his fingers on its metal surface. Chekov and Spock waited on him for instructions. 

“In that case I suggest we set up a roster. Mr. Howard will remain down by the engines keeping an eye on Quol. Mr. Chekov, you’ll take over the helm. Spock, get some rest now.”

Spock didn’t protest. He relinquished his seat to the ensign. On his way out of the cockpit he brushed against Jim’s body with his own. There’d been room enough for him to walk past easily, and Spock wasn’t clumsy. Jim stared after him. When he turned his attention back to Chekov, the ensign snapped his head around to study the controls. 

“Ay, ay, ay,” he muttered. 

Jim wasn’t sure if he was referring to the interaction he’d just witnessed between his commanding officers or the Romulan controls in front of him. 

He took the seat next to Chekov and continued his quest to find some useful information on the pirates in the ship’s memory banks. After five minutes he turned the console off again. 

“Sir?”

“This is pointless. I’m going to talk to Quol,” he said and left the cockpit.

Although the ship’s layout and size were utilitarian and pipes and electrics were out in the open for easy access, the main deck had been carpeted with a soft, springy material that looked very expensive. It would feel good to walk on it barefoot, Jim was sure, but it was an odd luxury. He ducked so he wouldn’t hit his head on a crystal chandelier. Quol was a strange man, he decided.

He approached the ladder that would take him below deck to the engine room when he heard a faint beeping sound coming from the ship’s small living quarters. There was no door to the quarters, just a heavy satin curtain. He pulled it aside—Spock was on his knees, but he moved quickly to turn away from Jim. Had he been scanning himself with a tricorder? 

Jim remained in the doorway. “Spock? Is everything okay?”

“I am preparing a sleeping pallet for each of us,” Spock replied, indicating two that he had already set up on the floor. 

“Okay,” Jim said quietly. 

He left Spock to whatever it was he was really doing, but he wouldn’t forget—they’d talk about it later.

***

Later came when it was Jim’s turn to take some rest. Spock wasn’t due to wake for another few hours, but this was probably the best chance to talk that they’d get without Jim having to worry that Chekov or Howard would walk in on them.

“Hey Spock,” he said softly, kneeling by his side.

The Vulcan stirred, opened his eyes and at once fixed Jim with such an intense stare that Jim’s mouth went dry; the lust he saw in it made his heart stutter. Jim leant forward. Spock didn’t pull back. Maybe they could sort through this mess they’d gotten themselves into? Jim couldn’t think of anything to say, so instead he kissed him.

Spock jerked his head back, his whole body flinching at the touch. A slight twist of the upper lip, a narrowing of the eyes… those were the only signs of emotion Spock’s face gave away, though.

Jim could feel the blood rushing to his ears. 

“Care to tell me what game you’re playing?” he said in a low voice. “You act like that kiss came out of nowhere, but you’ve deliberately stepped into my personal space more than once, Spock—while on duty! And that’s not okay.”

“I apologize, Captain. It will not happen again.”

Spock’s face went completely blank, as Jim saw him win the battle to keep his emotions hidden. The fact that his Vulcan control had been disturbed enough to allow him to feel any emotions at all was proof enough to Jim that Spock was going through a hard time. His anger cooled. Clearly this wasn’t easy for Spock. 

They sat in silence for a while. Jim’s mind worked hard; Spock had ended things once Jim had pressed him for something more serious. His friend still cared about him though, even if he hadn’t fallen in love with him the way he had with Spock—and on top of it all he’d just seen that Spock still desired him. Was Spock really so sure that he could never love Jim in return? That they couldn’t give this a chance?

“I can tell you’re not alright,” Jim said. “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you pain… I never meant for that to happen. That’s the last thing you need any more of.”

He felt like such an ass pressing Spock to answer any questions, but he needed to know, didn’t he? And if he didn’t ask now, then when?

“Spock, I should have asked you this a week ago, I know. But… are you sure we can’t have a serious relationship?”

Spock raised an eyebrow—he seemed surprised at the question. He propped himself up on the sleeping pallet.

“Jim,” he whispered, “I am sorry. We cannot… because I do not wish to give you my heart.”

The last words were said so quietly, Jim could hardly make them out. They may have been said softly, but the force of their impact left him reeling. He felt like he’d taken a punch to the gut. A ragged breath escaped his mouth. 

When he had his breathing under control again he lay down on the sleeping pallet next to Spock’s. He turned his head to look at him. His mind had gone oddly blank, but he remembered his encounter with Spock earlier, when he’d caught him scanning himself with a tricorder.

“How are you feeling?” Jim whispered. “Bones was a bit unsure about your scans. Are you okay?”

“I am sure the doctor’s report will be ready for you to read upon our return.”

Jim looked up at the ceiling. This was not how he wanted it to be; Spock could play the evasive Vulcan trick on everyone, but he shouldn’t be playing it on him. 

“Are you ill?”

“Captain, I am not a doctor. McCoy, however, is.”

Spock got up. “I do not require any more rest.”

The curtain was left swinging gently once he’d left the room. Shit and shit again, he thought. Spock was worried about what had happened to him down on Saketh. Jim cursed himself some more. All this time he hadn’t noticed. A great support he’d been to Spock… no wonder all his relationships failed.

Jim closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing so he could try to empty his mind of all conscious thought. It was a futile exercise. His mind refused to shut down—it was looking for another explanation why Spock had given himself a once-over with the tricorder, but without success.

***

Although they were all stuck on a small ship together, Jim thought he was doing a remarkable job of avoiding Spock, while not making it obvious. The routine he’d set up whereby he hardly had to see his first officer was interrupted when they finally drew close to the pirate base. He ordered everyone to dress in the clothes they’d bought in P.L.K. and then he asked Howard to eject all their Starfleet technology and their uniforms into space; he wasn’t going to risk leaving any evidence that might compromise their disguise. There were plenty of weapons on board, but now they no longer had a tricorder.

Jim stood in front of a mirror in the living quarters. The frame was intricately carved out of wood and was gilded in gold leaf. He shifted his focus to his reflection; he was satisfied that he looked the part of the rogue now that he’d changed clothes. 

As far as acting the part went—all he had to do was think back a few years. If he wanted to trick the pirates, he’d have to be like one of the dangerous people he'd met in prison. He knew if he was on his own that he could trick the pirates, but he couldn't imagine Spock acting well for even one second, nor Chekov and Howard for that matter, though at least they should do a better job than Spock.

And Spock easily had the hardest job of all—what was a Romulan criminal like? What was Romulus like, or a prison there? Spock had informed him that he didn't know. And how could he? The Federation had fought against them and yet except with Nero, visual contact had remained elusive. When things were starting to look bad, the Romulans hit the self-destruct button. 

Uhura was one of the few who knew Romulan. Their language and dialects had only become known very recently after much effort from Starfleet intelligence; the key had been the interception of some one hundred civilian subspace messages that had not been correctly encoded due to a fault on a Romulan ship. Pure luck really. 

If even one of Kroth’s men was Romulan, they’d be in trouble.

"Captain," Spock said, pushing the curtain aside, "you wished to be informed when we had all changed so that you could inspect the disguises."

"Yes. I did," he replied.

He had to repress a sigh. He longed for Spock to call him 'Jim'. He’d hardly ever called him Jim before they got together, only when the conversation was very personal or they’d been in extreme danger or something like that—although the older Spock had called him ‘Jim’ easily. Was that future ever going to happen in this universe? 

He turned around; he'd avoided looking at Spock long enough. When he did his jaw almost fell off its hinges: Spock was wearing the jacket he’d chosen for him, and the rest of the outfit was very much in keeping with the jacket. Spock wouldn't have looked out of place at a hardcore drug addict hang-out.

"I was unsure how to style my hair."

"Well since you're a Romulan who wants to blend in with humans... here, I'll make your hair more human."

He rummaged in his duffle, pulled out some hair gel he’d picked up at the shop and squirted some into the palm of his hand. It felt cool and smelt of alcohol. He reached for Spock's hair.

Jim didn't complete the motion. Spock was holding his breath and his eyes had widened by a small fraction. By now he knew Spock well enough to judge that he was alarmed at the thought of Jim touching him, even though it was just his hair.

He knew he shouldn't let something like that get to him, but he couldn't help it.

"Come here." Jim’s voice broke slightly when he talked; he winced. "I'll show you how you can do it. You'll have to get your hands messy though."

Spock nodded.

When they'd finished they left the quarters to find the others. 

"The pirates are never going to accept you as their own. You aren't, either of you, the least bit convincing," he heard Quol say to Howard and Chekov just as they approached the cockpit. 

Jim looked at Spock. "Do they really look that bad?"

"I believe it is not their attire Quol is criticizing," Spock said.

"You’re right there," Quol replied. "Yes, your men look like pirates, but you'll need more than that. This is my life on the line, too, you know. I can't be seen to be helping Starfleet! Either get your men in order or abandon the mission now while you still have a chance to keep us all from being killed. You don’t even have a plan!"

Jim nodded. “We’re taking this seriously. We know what we’re doing.”

It was true that they didn’t have a plan. A plan was useless, he'd explained to Spock. Instead he’d briefed them all to play along with whatever he decided to do once they were there—and what that was depended very much on whether they could keep Quol from stabbing them in the back or not. 

"I'll try and make sure you get past most checks, if not all," Quol said, "but I can't guarantee anything. They won't be expecting documents, but there’ll be a lot of questions and you bet they have the equipment to check up on what you say."

Absently Jim scratched the back of his neck. 

“They have acquired Klingon mind sifters?” Spock asked. 

“Maybe,” Quol replied.

Jim held Quol’s gaze. The man was bluffing, he was sure. 

"Ve haf entered their perimeter," Chekov announced.

Quol looked over his shoulder at the readout. “Then they should contact us any time now.”

Right on cue a light on the dashboard started blinking. Jim nodded and Chekov accepted the call.

The man, whose face was now plastered across the main screen had reptilian skin and deep-set eyes.

"Spacefarers?" he asked. 

Before Quol could answer Jim pulled out a plasma gun and pressed it firmly to the merchant’s temple. None of his team flinched at his unexpected action, he was proud to note, not even Ensign Howard. 

"No, Quol is our passenger," Jim said, his grin wide. "It surprised me when I found out you people trade with such a profiteering merchant, but then I suppose this far out some goods can’t be stolen on a regular basis."

There was no change to the man’s expression, although it was never easy to tell with aliens. 

"I've seen the contraband he has in the hold,” Jim went on. “I know you need it all… intact… so don’t even think about attacking us. I want to talk to Kroth—now, if you’d be so kind."

"I'm Vig, his Deputant, I can speak for him in them here matters."

Although Vig’s Standard was heavy with dialect, the inflection was near perfect.

"You don't want to lose this merchant's trade," Jim said pressing the tip of the gun into Quol’s skin.

Quol nodded carefully.

"What do you want?" Vig asked.

"To talk to Kroth; to join up. I realize stealing this one shipment of cargo would get me quite a lot of latinum."

Although the rest of the face remained impassive, Vig’s lipless mouth twisted into a snarl. 

"But I also appreciate,” Jim continued, “that then you guys would hunt us down and kill us. And you’d do that no matter who we stole from; this is your region of space. We'd rather live, so we want to join."

"So why risk your lives abducting our contact?"

"Thought we’d give you a little demonstration of our skills." 

Jim grinned again; he hoped his smile wasn't getting repetitive. Someone off screen laughed and stepped into the picture—a Klingon.

"Welcome to my little kingdom. I am Kroth. And who might you be?"

"Jim."

"Well, Jim, I’m afraid I’ll need to know you can do more than hold a plasma gun to someone’s head. I need people who know how to work the decks of a spaceship, not wastrels. Everyone on board one of my pirate ships is an equal—life here is better than on your standard military vessel—everyone works hard and receives a fair share of the bounty, with minus my cut for upkeep."

"All of us can work a spaceship," Jim replied.

The tone of Kroth’s voice dropped to a growl. "We’ll judge that—once you deliver the goods to us."

The screen went blank.

"Oh, I'm so royally screwed," Quol moaned.

Jim glared at him.

"I hope you have fun being part of one of his 'fair' crews," Quol continued.

Spock took the helm and guided them down onto the base, which was on the surface of a large, rocky asteroid. 

“If they want demonstrations of our skills once we land, then focus on showing them some piloting and mechanical skills," Jim addressed his men. 

Chekov and Howard nodded.


	22. Chapter 22

The skills tests were fairly basic, which was a relief to Jim. It meant they were being treated like normal 'recruits'.

When the tests were over, Jim stood with his officers. They were surrounded by Kroth's men; the way the pirates' fingers were lightly resting on the handles of their holstered plasma guns made it clear that they should not move—they were de facto prisoners.

One of the pirates was Klingon, a couple were human. Most of the rest belonged to a species he didn't recognize. The one thing they had in common were the thin, pale scars each of them bore on his face, like spider webs. Jim had seen such scarring before, back when he was in prison—he’d never asked Lawrence how he’d gotten them, something he now regretted. 

The man Jim recognized as the second in command, Vig, approached Spock. "So you're all space-worthy. But it's not every day we get Romulans joining us.” He turned his head to address Jim. “Humans more so; there seems to be an endless supply of you meatbags."

"I travel with the humans," Spock replied.

Vig looked down at the slim touch screen in his hand. "I see... "Stsh—", are you sure this is a Romulan name? Whatever, I can’t pronounce it. What do humans call you?"

"Pointy eared bastard," Jim supplied quickly, which earned him a round of subdued laughter.

Vig’s reptilian eyes narrowed at Jim. "I'm surprised you're still alive." He then turned his attention back to Spock. "Something about Jim we should know?"

Spock didn’t answer. Vig left him alone and stood in front of Jim, once again looking at his PADD-like device. "You supplied a previous profession—what was it? Oh yes, ‘mechanic on a trading ship’. I somehow doubt that.”

Jim folded his arms across his chest. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

"No, I don’t. Men!" Vig shouted and five pirates surged towards Jim.

Jim swung his fist at the first to reach him—the Klingon. Spock jumped to Jim's defense, but was surrounded by another five pirates, while a couple of others pulled out their weapons to keep Howard and Chekov in check. Spock continued to struggle although he'd been restrained. One guy who’d looked particularly mean grabbed Jim around the neck to keep him under control while the others pressed him to the ground. He felt his cheek scrape roughly against the metal floor. Someone grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked it down to expose the nape of his neck. He felt something hard and cold pressed to his skin there.

"What does the scanner say?" he heard Vig ask.

Jim knew what was coming next, and worst of all, there was nothing he could do to stop it. Under other circumstances he'd at least be able to explain to Spock. Why hadn't he seen this coming?

A rough voice answered. "He’s a convicted criminal for sure. He’s got one of them there microchips the Federation is so fond of. Scanner says whichever prison he served time in was on Earth. Can’t tell much more though—rest of the data’s encrypted.”

He was let go. The pirates also released their hold on Spock, but Jim studiously avoided meeting his first officer’s eyes. He knew he should probably care more what Chekov or Howard thought of this revelation, but he didn't. 

Vig’s broad frame shook and a barking sound escaped his lipless mouth. Jim presumed he was laughing. 

"Well, well, well. What to make of you, Jim? I don't like you and Quol said you were all Starfleet. They don't microchip petty criminals, but I've met many soldiers who started life on the wrong side of the law."

Quol you bastard, Jim thought. But that's what he'd been expecting, and why he'd pulled his weapon on Quol in the shuttle—he'd had to make sure the pirates believed that Quol had a reason to discredit them, because he'd known the merchant inevitably would tell on them.

"Now I only wish that Federation data chip would tell us something intelligible," Vig continued, "such as what you're running from. What crimes you committed. Sadly we haven’t cracked the deeper levels of encoding on them. I doubt you'll tell me. I see too much regret in your eyes."

Jim nodded and his smile was thin. "Damn right I won't tell you."

"Well maybe one of your companions will talk. We will see." Vig eyed Spock. "Hmmmmm, I doubt any of those unflappable Vulcans would be moved to struggle against five of my men, especially when clearly outnumbered and firmly restrained. And no Romulan would work with Starfleet. Still—you all look a little too clean for my liking. But I hear from Quol that you lot stole and then divided up his latinum amongst yourselves, and we all know how rich that bastard is. I suggest we head to this base's only disreputable establishment, so you can lighten your wallets there."

His last words might have said 'welcome to the gang', but Jim understood Vig would be watching him and one small step out of line was all it would take for Vig to have him killed.

***

The pirates marched them towards the bar Vig had mentioned. It was clear to Jim that they hadn’t earned their trust yet, but they were getting there. They wouldn’t be alive if Vig actually thought they were Starfleet. Their progress was halted when they ran into a crowd of people blocking the way ahead.

Vig threw his left hand up and motioned for everyone to draw close. Jim stood next to his officers but tried to put as much distance between them and Vig as possible. If there was going to be trouble, he didn't want them to be in the center of it. The crowd was making such a noise that he couldn't hear what Vig was saying. It didn’t seem to be too important though, as the pirate next to him wasn’t paying Vig much attention. He was human, quite tall, lean muscled, and had the same spider-web scars as the rest of them. What distinguished him from all the others was his attire—he was wearing a blood red silk shirt. The brightness of the color meant there was no way this guy was planning to hide in the crowd. Before Vig had even finished the man turned to face Chekov.

"See those people," he said to the teenager and pointed at a group of aliens off to their right.

Jim strained his neck to peer around a tall man standing in his way. He saw the group: there were half a dozen pale skinned humanoids, with pointy ears and dark hair. He looked at Spock and then back again. They were clearly Vulcanoid, but he could see the differences. Their ears were longer and less curved and their skin looked greener than Spock’s.

"Them there are the locals,” he heard the man explain to Chekov. “They're executing someone publicly—always a big turnout for executions. You may as well enjoy the theater. We won’t be going anywhere for a while, not with this crowd."

The man turned his attention away from Chekov to something near the far wall of the deck. Jim followed his gaze and saw a stage there.

Jim was humming with tension—instinctively his officers all drew into a close huddle so they could talk, the right side of Spock's body hot against his left. The ever swelling crowd camouflaged their actions and the shouts, mutterings, and general chatter would mask their words. Jim scanned the mob, but the pirates were all focused on the stage, even Vig. Jim knew they couldn't leave without being noticed, but they could at least use this time to talk.

"I don't think we've convinced Vig or the others. I think they're going to keep testing us so be aware of that when we get to the bar," Jim said in a low voice.

The others nodded their agreement with only the slightest inclination of their heads.

"Are they Wulcans?"

"No,” Spock replied, “but they are most probably closely related to Romulans.”

A tall male, one of the locals, was led to the stage by some of the pirates. Silence fell, broken only by the soft footsteps of the man and his pirate guards mounting the stage. When they came to a standstill on top of the stage, the man faced the crowd, and the noise started up again. Muttering, jeering and hissing built up into a crescendo, the sounds all far louder than before. 

Jim noted that the human pirate from before had sidled up to Chekov again.

"Kroth gives them too much leeway, as you can see,” the man said to Chekov. “They have their own laws, which Kroth not only allows, he makes us enforce them!”

Allowing the locals some autonomy to rule was a smart move on Kroth’s part, Jim thought. Maybe he’d even managed to get them on his side, make them believe having the pirates here was a good thing.

Although the doomed man was clearly a local the pirates in the crowd didn’t actually seem very happy about what was about to happen. He was still missing something here.

“Who is he and why’s he being executed?” Jim asked.

The pirate turned to Jim. “He’s a fine mechanic—repaired some of our ships for us. Valuable man to have around. I can’t believe Kroth is letting them kill him.”

“His crime?” Chekov asked.

“They say he raped and killed a woman.”

While Jim was glad Chekov was easily getting information out of this pirate, he was concerned by the way the pirate was standing ever closer to the teenager.

The man shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure what to believe. The women seem to be in charge of everything here, and they would be quick to place the blame on someone like him—they seem to have it out for the bachelors of their species. I think it’s ‘cause them there women sell their comforts to the highest bidder. Even when they get married, it’s all about the money: who can pay the most for them. And then the day after their marriage, you see them out on the streets again, selling their bodies to us. Not that I need to buy that kind of attention.”

The pirate leered at Chekov; it made the hairs on the back of Jim’s neck stand on end.

“But if a man doesn’t pay, they punish him severely. And Kroth allows that too. If one of our men doesn’t pay in latinum, he gets us to hand the cheapskate over to the locals.”

“What happens to him then?” Chekov asked, his eyes wide.

“No one knows for sure… the men never talk about it. But I witnessed it once. Happened to my ship’s captain—he was a Romulan. Kroth made us restrain him and bring him before the women. I was one of the people who had to lead the captain to them. It wasn’t even rape, he just wanted to marry the girl. She wanted to marry him too, but no matter how much money he might have handed over, it wasn’t allowed, simple as that.”

He lowered his voice then, and Jim had to take a step closer to listen in. “Don’t mind admitting that I was dead scared he’d kill me once he was released; I was hoping the women would kill him. But they didn’t. They touched his face and then… he screamed, and screamed, and screamed. They let us take him away, but he didn’t stop screaming all night long. We locked him in the brig. It wasn’t until he exhausted himself that he fell asleep. When he woke up again, he was silent. He never talked about what happened to him. A few weeks later, he was dead.”

“He simply died?” Chekov asked.

“No, he was shot at point blank range by another Romulan. Vaporized.”

At this, the pirate looked pointedly at Spock. When he turned back to Chekov though, he chuckled and put his hand out to touch his hair. Jim caught the pirate's wrist in a vise-like grip before he could complete the motion. They stared at each other until Jim let go.

The pirate narrowed his eyes. “Be careful, Jim-boy.”

His eyes rove all over Jim’s body instead of Chekov’s now.

“You’re quite a pretty boy too, you know.”

Before Jim had time to react, Spock had moved to stand between him and the pirate, his stance saying ‘don’t cause trouble’. The man was suitably intimidated and took a few steps back.

“Watch your step, Romulan, you wouldn’t want to find yourself crossing any lines. Kroth’s punishments are no less ruthless than the women’s.”

Spock didn’t reply to that, for which Jim was grateful—in this charged confrontation Spock’s neutral tone would have given him away as a Vulcan in an instant. The man stole one more glance at Chekov before stepping away from them and turning his attention once more to the stage.

“Thanks for that,” Jim said when he was sure the man was out of earshot.

Spock inclined his head ever so slightly.

“Can ve trust the information he gave us? The story of the Romulan captain… it sounded like an old horror story.”

Jim shuddered. Memories of dry fingers pressed to his temples, his mind invaded by Spock’s older counterpart—he could easily believe that Vulcan telepathy could be used to torture someone, and Spock had implied as much when they had talked about the subject.

“I believe that horror story,” Jim answered.

“And that their women auction themselves off to highest bidder?” Howard asked.

“Irrelevant,” Spock replied.

Jim raised an eyebrow. “We’re clearly still under observation. The more we understand, the easier it will be for us to fit in. So, your opinion, Mr. Spock?”

“It is plausible, but we have only one man’s word for it.”

“It sounds horrible,” Chekov said.

Spock stood taller. “The reason Starfleet teaches us to respect other cultures is because as outsiders it can be difficult to comprehend the underlying reasons behind other value systems.”

Jim was reminded of the conversation he’d had with Spock about Vulcan morals when they were in the underground city—that seemed like an age ago.

“Don’t be so quick to judge until you’ve lived in their shoes. Is that what you’re trying to say?” Jim said.

“Indeed, that is the message I intended to convey."

The Vulcans probably would commend such a system, too; it neatly avoided the whole messy business of emotions. Jim's lips twisted into a humorless smile.

"Doesn't sound like it works if they just leave their husbands for the next highest bidder. Great family values right there."

"They do not do that.”

Jim was taken aback by Spock's sharp tone. “How do you know?”

“It appears I may have been mistaken in my initial assessment. Romulans are not known for their telepathic abilities—it appears the locals here are more Vulcan than Romulan in biology. And Vulcans mate for life.”

“Come again?”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“Vulcans mate for life? Wait a minute… what do you mean with that?”

He didn’t care that they were in the middle of a crowd at a goddamned execution with Chekov and Howard listening in, that sentence deserved some explanation. Spock had broken up with Uhura and even if he hadn’t had sex with her, and Jim was certain he had, Spock had definitely had sex with him and he was not getting the whole ‘life-partner’ vibe from Spock.

Spock looked at Jim seriously and lowered his voice almost to a whisper, so that the others had to lean in to hear him. Jim cursed the fact that he wasn’t alone with Spock for this talk.

“A Vulcan marriage is not equivalent to a human one. But once married only death can break the bond.”

“Oh right, I get it—marriage. But how can you be sure they practice the same traditions the Vulcans do when it comes to marriage?”

“Not tradition, biology.”

When he’d been a kid he remembered he’d once got gum stuck in his hair and it had been almost impossible to pull out; talking to Spock now was similarly frustrating.

“Help me out a bit more, will you?”

Just when Jim thought that the discussion was over, Spock leant closer to him, not allowing the others to be part of the conversation. Understanding that, the two ensigns backed off.

“As I stated, these people are telepaths, just as Vulcans are. And when we marry we are linked telepathically.”

Jim had to concentrate to make out Spock’s soft words above the din of the jeering crowd.

“My… wife’s… name was T’Pring. Even the greatest distances could not part us—only death.”

He could hear the blood rushing through his veins, the noise of the crowd completely drowned out by it. Why had Spock never told him before?

At that moment two women moved up to the man. Jim looked closer at the man on the stage, and his mouth grew dry as he realized how much the man resembled Spock. They each placed a hand on either side of his face and pressed down. He started screaming—it was as the pirate had told them. When the man’s screaming stopped, he crumpled to the floor, lifeless. The execution was over. They’d killed him telepathically. The skin on his temples felt hot and cold at the same time just where Spock had touched him on Delta Vega—he knew he was just imagining it, but it was still a disturbing sensation.

He turned to Spock, but the Vulcan had walled himself off, his face completely expressionless.

Regardless of the horror they'd just watched, Jim's thoughts couldn't get past the idea of Spock and marriage. What about Uhura? Spock had loved her. Or so Jim had believed, at least. He wondered how much more Spock had not told him. Of course he was aware Spock had almost certainly lost other family members besides his mother when his planet was destroyed. He hadn't known Spock had lost his wife on that day too, though.

“I’m sorry about your loss. I didn’t even know you were married," he said awkwardly. 

“All Vulcans have spouses—or should have,” Spock whispered before turning his back on him and stepping towards Chekov and Howard.

The crowd was starting to disperse in front of them, offering him a clear view of the body. He averted his gaze quickly. Vig was pushing his way through to them.

They continued with the gang towards the bar. Jim couldn’t help feeling betrayed by Spock. He’d known his friend had held back a lot, was a very private man, but this? He’d truly been kidding himself in thinking Spock had ever taken him into his trust. 

As they walked and he pushed thoughts of Spock to one side, he felt the back of his neck itch at the site of the chip. He refused to imagine any of his officers’ gazes lingering there. Hell, how had he ever let his life get so out of hand before he joined Starfleet? Well, he knew the answer to that question, of course, but still, it seemed unimaginable to him now that he could’ve ever thought so little of himself and his life.

When they got to the bar, Vig sat the party down at a large table. This was exactly the kind of trial Bones had warned him of, Jim realized, when Vig started throwing all the alcohol and hard drugs in the galaxy their way. He could tell his crew didn't have a clue where to start with the drugs. They looked around hoping someone would demonstrate, but the pirates’ eyes were all on them. 

They had to be convincing, every one of them, to pass this test or they'd be found out. Jim honestly didn't know what to do with most of the stuff on the table either. But there was one drug he recognized—meekon. A double box, one side holding white powder, the other holding a bright purple power. Taken together, they formed meekon. He’d never used it, but he’d seen others partake from meekon’s two-sided box. All he could do was try it and hope for the best; at least he knew it wouldn’t kill him. He reached for the meekon. Immediately he felt Spock's eyes on him and he was certain his first officer was struggling to not smack the box out of his hand. And, honestly, pirates be damned, Jim wished he would. 

He took a pinch of the white powder; it felt as soft as flour between his fingers. He formed an "L" with his left index finger and thumb, placing the powder in the web where the digits joined. He added the coarser purple stuff on top, gently mixing the powders together with his right index finger, which he then wiped clean on his shirt. 

He slowly raised his hand to his nose, careful not breathe out over the drug or spill any of it. Everyone was watching—he hoped he wasn’t going to screw this up. Bracing himself for he didn’t quite know what, he leant down and sniffed the powder. 

It went straight to his sinuses, where it burnt like hell. A sharp pain ripped across his skull, but it was gone as soon as it had come, though the burning sensation in his nose lingered. Apart from those two effects he didn’t feel any different—yet. Talk quickly, he thought, before the brain melts the drug. Or… something like that. 

"Good stuff.” Okay, not exactly Shakespeare, but already his mind was starting to go oddly blank. 

"No messing about, eh? Straight for the strong stuff. I don't have the head for that, personally," Vig said.

This was all going to go horribly wrong, Jim thought.

"Me neither," Spock replied to the pirate's statement.

He was glad Spock had declined the drug. He knew it was safe for humans, well, not exactly safe of course—that was kind of missing the point of drugs— but it was unlikely to kill him; it could be fatal to Spock, though. The aliens at the table were mixing powders in all manner of ways, while Jim still couldn't shake the feeling that Vig had been waiting for him to pick up one of the many other drugs on the table. He’d never seen most of them, for all he knew that beige powder was pure arsenic, but made Klingons feel like they were cozying up to unicorns on pink fluffy clouds while drinking tea.

"We have some Romulan ale, if you'd rather?" Vig pulled out a bottle of sky blue liquid and held it up for Spock to inspect.

Jim gasped—that's what the ambassador had given them! He’d drunk it with Bones and it had given him the mother of all hangovers. 

The pirates had heard his exhale and were now chuckling.

Vig waved the bottle at him. "Want some?" 

_Hell no!_ He'd had some before and it hadn’t killed him, but who knew how it would react with the meekon. Though if he could nurse just one cup of Romulan ale, rather than having to take any more meekon, it might be worth the risk.

His reply had to sound genuine, so tried to think of something that would give a lift of enthusiasm to his voice, something he really wanted to do. Not Spock! Anything else—a nice relaxing bath and some Saurian brandy, yes, that was better.

"Want some? Hell yes!" he said with a grin so wide he could feel it hurting his facial muscles.

Vig poured four glasses; one each for the new arrivals at Kroth's pirate base. Spock looked distinctly unhappy, which was of course ludicrous, as Spock never looked unhappy, but it made him wonder how the drink affected Vulcans. Maybe it was like beer to them or maybe it had the same effect on them as it did on humans and caused them to become drunk instantly.

A small group of women dressed only in glitzy underwear had been singing quietly on the bar's stage. One of the pirates called them over. They came and stood a few meters away; in the loud bar that was far enough to mask all sound, probably even from the pointiest of ears. One of the men got up and started talking to them.

Vig’s scaly hand gripped Jim's upper arm tightly before releasing it again. "If you want one you had best hurry up or only the ugly ones will be left."

The very idea offended Jim.

"I can see in your eyes you’re not interested,” Vig taunted him.

Another test? Well, he wasn't going to play along this time.

“Maybe I can help?” Vig continued. “If women aren't to your taste I could arrange some boys instead."

Jim had no doubt that they would be boys too, and not men. He felt sick to his stomach.

"This is going to sound rude," Jim answered, "but what the hell, we're all enemies here, aren't we? Between you and me, I just don't feel much like catching Tellarian syphilis.”

“This base is quite clean.”

“Really? So your face is nat'ruly hideous? My bad!" 

He wished his mind could’ve come up with something wittier, but the drugs were really kicking in now; he'd heard how badly he'd slurred his words. They weren’t just starting to affect him, though, but everyone else too, it seemed, as there was laughter all round. He hoped he'd sufficiently deflected Vig's attention from the issue of the local prostitutes. 

They just needed a bit of information and then they'd be out of here quicker than lightning. Before tomorrow, if he could help it. But he saw a long night ahead of him. They all carried a lot of money, though, and these men wanted prostitutes and drugs, all of which had a high price. He'd get the information they needed given enough time. He wondered if there'd be anything left of his brain come daybreak or whether it would be a fizzing mess of slowly dissolving grey mush.


	23. Chapter 23

Jim woke up. He moved his head. _Argh!_ A pounding pain wrapped tightly around his entire skull forced him to remain still. He lay on the floor panting and sweating as if he'd just run the Academy marathon. Bones would kill him for all the damage he'd done to his brain last night, but it had been unavoidable. He just hoped they’d gotten all the information they needed, as there was no way he was going to survive another night of this. 

He didn’t yet dare to open his eyes. They felt like they were thumping in their sockets trying to escape. It was not the first time he’d woken up in such a mess, but it was the first time since joining the Fleet. Had he really drunk himself into a coma voluntarily on a regular basis? Urgh, he’d been such a self-sabotaging idiot.

As he waited for his brain to stop cramping, he became aware of the foul taste in his mouth… his tongue was furrier than a tribble's coat. He opened his eyes and allowed them adjust to the light before gingerly pushing himself into an upright sitting position on the floor. So, where to start? What had happened last night? He looked around. A mirror with a gilded frame hung on the wall. Okay, so he’d somehow walked back to Quol’s ship, or been dragged back.

He tried to get up, but it felt as if someone had turned up the gravity controls to simulate being on Saturn’s surface, and he collapsed back onto the floor.

“Anyone here?” he called out. 

No reply. Fine, he’d get up. He could do this—his body just didn’t want to cooperate—but it would damned well do what it was told! Muscles protested and blotches of grey sparked at the edges of his vision, but he managed to get up and stagger out of the living quarters to the cockpit. No Chekov, no Howard, and no sign of Spock there either.

 _Okay, don't panic. There's no reason to be alarmed, you don't even know what happened. Clearly you weren't found out, or you'd be dead._ He decided he'd most likely been carried back to the ship, so the others were probably around somewhere. First things first—he had to find a miracle hangover cure. 

He stumbled out of the small craft. There was a smell in the air that hinted of breakfast—breakfast of the black liquid variety with three sugars, no milk. At the edge of the hanger deck he spotted the source: a small stall or café... or whatever it might try and call itself. Most of the tables had pirates hunched over them who were tightly clutching silver-colored thermal mugs. He lumbered over to the café. The pirates there were in as bad a state as he was. 

He ordered an Andorian coffee from one of the local women behind the counter. One of the pirates behind him sniggered. Jim turned around and saw the man was pointing at him, or more specifically, his upper arm. Jim groaned. Now that he’d been made aware of his arm, he realized the skin there did feel more than just a little tight, and itched like a Cardassian mosquito bite. Other pirates were now looking his way too, and laughing. He clapped the flat of his hand down over his skin there, covering the area completely.

For this Bones wouldn’t kill him. No, he’d do something worse, like laugh at him in front of crew members or hypo-spray him for fun. Really, how bad could it be? He lifted two fingers covering his upper arm and stared at the words they revealed. **I heart—** , Oh hell, please, _please_ don't let the next words be "my Vulcan". He'd definitely never be able to explain that particular tattoo to Bones.

He removed his hand. Okay, so it wasn't actually that bad—"that bad" in this case meaning the second worst, rather than the actual worst case scenario.

 **I heart data substations**.

What the hell had happened last night?

A waitress brought him his Andorian coffee—ten times stronger than the replicated stuff he got on the _Enterprise_. The smell of the steaming hot brew alone was enough to drive away the feeling that his brain was full of both cotton balls and jackhammers at the same time. He took a large gulp that burnt his tongue _Aaaaahhh!_ he sighed in satisfaction. 

The coffee cleared his mind. It was like pulling back the curtains in the morning. Last night's memories came flooding in like the light.

Vig had indeed started pushing even more alcohol and drugs their way. The questioning had gone rather well, though, as Jim had learned far more from Vig than Vig had learned from him; Jim had asked whether they were planning attacks on the _Enterprise_ , why they were interested in Saketh and so on. That was good. 

But then, Jim recalled taking more meekon, really not a good idea in hindsight, but he hadn’t had any choice. 

_Then he’d felt a hand down his pants._

_“Sp’ck.”_

_But it hadn't been Spock, it had been a man wearing a red shirt that reflected the light in a blinding fashion. Jim had felt like his eyes were beating in their sockets, keeping time with his heart, and he hadn't been able to focus anymore, all he had been able to see was a wall of red. Around him all the sounds were dulled, too. He felt that hand leave his pants. The room spun around him as someone took hold of his wrist and dragged him to his feet, leading him away from the table._

_“Lemme go.”_

_He tried to twist his body away from the man who was gripping his wrist. Where was he? Once they came to a standstill he realized they were still in the bar, only a few meters away from the table._

_“Jim, it’s me.”_

_He looked up. It was impossible to keep Spock’s face in the centre of his vision, but he could tell something was wrong. Spock’s brow was furrowed, and his mouth was twisted into a grimace._

_“Man, you look wors’n I do!”_

_“Jim, I must leave,” Spock said._

_“Need you here, Spock, the drugs and the ale've gone to my head."_

_“I’m also aff… affected, which is why I must leave. Jim."_

_Spock placed his hands on Jim's shoulders. Jim could feel Spock's hands and arms trembling and through their contact he imagined his own body trembling._

_“Our friendship’s… ‘s important," Spock continued. "And that’s why I must go. Now.”_

_He turned his head to look over Jim’s shoulder. “But I’ll take that red-shirted _bastard_ with me. It’ll look less sus… less suspis … better. And that'll get him away from you and Chekov.”_

_“But he’ll be with you!”_

_“I’ll get rid of him, Jim.” A sardonic grin spread across Spock’s features._

_God, the Vulcan must be wasted, Jim thought. At least it made him seem very Romulan. Spock still hadn’t let go of him and Jim thought he wanted to say something else, maybe he wanted to kiss him. When he suddenly let go and rushed off, Jim was left confused and disorientated. He looked around. Then he finally saw him again—Spock was dragging the red-shirted pirate out of the bar. He started to walk after them. None of it made any sense, but he also realized that that was probably because he was too far gone already._

_“Jim, where you goin’? Gettin’ lost?” a voice drawled._

_He drew himself up and looked around. It was Vig. Jim plastered a stupid grin onto his face and ambled back to the drinking table._

_As soon as he sat down Vig pushed some colorful powders his way._

_“Waz this?”_

_He must have taken those offered drugs, but where the memory should have been, there was only a blank page in his mind. The next thing he remembered was Chekov shaking him._

_"Vake up! Are you alright?"_

_“’m ‘wake.”_

_There was laughter. The world was spinning around him. The table, the pirates, and Chekov all turning so fast, and yet they also stayed in the same place. He tried to focus on Chekov, look him in the eye to let him know he was okay, but he couldn't._

_He closed his eyes and let his head flop to the side. That was better. He couldn't feel what he was doing with the rest of his body, his senses were too numbed to tell._

_His mind went quiet as his thoughts slowed down. It was odd… when he tried to meditate, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't clear his mind. Now it was a struggle to fill it with any thoughts._

_When all thought had vacated the plane of his consciousness, it seemed as lonely and as cold as the space between the stars. Then it was as if he’d crashed into a planet. He was in a memory, really in it. All the sensations his body had picked up that he hadn't even aware of, all his thoughts, and everything... his mind had stored every conceivable detail and now he was there again: in his quarters, Spock sitting across from him on the floor._

_'You must slow your brainwaves, Jim.’_

_Why should he do that? But the memory was playing itself out and so, instantly, he knew why—he’d lashed out at Reid, and Spock wanted to help him calm down. Vig and the drugs on the table in front of him faded as he let himself be washed along in the stream of his memories._

_"Are they too fast?" he asked._

_Spock reached for Jim's face with his hand; his touch was feather light. After running his fingers across the left side of his temple he withdrew his hand again._

_"At thirty-six Hertz they are within normal parameters for an alert adult human, however, to reach a meditative state you must slow them to seven Hertz."_

_"Did you just read my thoughts?"_

_"As I have previously explained, that is not how my telepathy works. And I would never engage in a mind-meld with you without your permission."_

_"Yeah, I remember—your hands aren't telepathic, they're just really sensitive. So... how do I slow my brainwaves down?"_

_"Focus on nothing, silence your thoughts."_

_"Alright, sounds easy enough."_

_It wasn't, of course. The first thought that came to his mind was "am I doing this right?" and it went downhill from there in his attempt to silence his mind._

_After ten minutes he gave up and opened his eyes. Spock was clearly not having any problems finding a deep meditative state and Jim didn't want to disturb him. He got up and walked over to his desk were he picked up a PADD._

_Search terms:_ slow + brainwaves + meditation + humans _. He read the first few articles on the topic in the Starfleet database. It took the masters of Zen upwards of twenty years to control their minds to the degree Spock had asked of him. Some joker Spock was. The information he found brought home to him how different Vulcans and humans were, though. While he could readily believe that Spock had been practicing six hours a day for over twenty years to control his mind, he doubted the final state his mind achieved was at all similar to that of a Zen master after the same amount of training._

_In humans it apparently further opened up the mind to their creativity and intuition, allowing connections to be made in an instant. He was already good at that when fully alert—but it was a distinctively un-Vulcan like way of reaching a decision. He didn't know what meditation did to Vulcan brains, but he'd bet his life it was the exact opposite._

_As quickly as he’d been plunged into that memory, he was ripped out of it. Then he was falling into another one… he was in his quarters again. The lights were dimmed and Spock was with him. They were both naked and he was kneeling at Spock's feet. Ah, the plot was thickening; there was a common theme to these memories._

_He swiped his tongue over the tip of Spock’s cock. This time they weren’t meditating._

_He looked up at Spock’s face—no reaction. The coldness of Spock’s cock was stinging his tongue already._

_"Hey," he said softly._

_His knees clicked as he got up off the floor and sat down on the bed next to Spock, one hand trailing through the dark chest hair, the other moving to stroke Spock’s cock, setting a leisurely firm rhythm._

_Why was he so nervous? It was Spock he was talking to, and there was no one else he trusted more. More than anything else in the world, he wanted to see the Vulcan beside him come unraveled. Maybe Spock needed more stimulation?_

_"Do you want to fuck?" he whispered._

_It wasn’t sophisticated and he wasn’t even sure it was sexy. He could already feel his own erection flagging. He hadn’t allowed anyone to take him for years now. It wasn’t that he thought it might hurt. He knew it wouldn’t, as Spock would be careful. But how would Spock react to his question? He’d never cared for someone’s answer before, not really, but around Spock he felt exposed._

_He looked into brown eyes so large they filled most of his field of vision._

_"You inside me," his lover finally replied._

_He was pulled out of the scene._

_There were other memories too, and while before it had seem to him that he was crashing into them, now he realized that they were rushing towards him—coming to fill the void in his consciousness. All the memories were of him and Spock, working together, talking, having sex, or simply enjoying each other’s company. A question crossed his mind. In a place so devoid of thought, it exploded onto the barren landscape of his mind like a supernova. Why hadn't Spock told him about his breakup with Uhura? It had been the first time he'd felt let down by his friendship with Spock. The thought’s afterglow lit up his consciousness. Before it could fade, he was deep inside another memory._

_"Captain, I must apologize—"_

_Jim knitted his brow and stopped Spock midsentence. "What are you apologizing for?"_

_The colors were more vivid and every sound louder than it should have been, as if he was in a state of hyper-awareness. The lines around Spock’s mouth were visible to him now._

_'That I did not inform you that Lieutenant Uhura and I are no longer in a romantic relationship.'_

_As Spock said those words, the light in his eyes dulled and he slouched his back and shoulders. Jim shuffled closer to his friend and hugged him tight. He hadn't actually hugged Spock though. This wasn't a memory anymore. This was something new. He could control this scene!_

_"Why didn’t you tell me earlier, Spock?"_

_"I thought Nyota and I would resume our relationship. But now you have forced me to admit to myself that it is not our destiny be together."_

_Was this his subconscious mind being all awesome and putting together all the pieces of the jigsaw for him? Even the pieces he hadn't even known he'd had, since he'd only picked them up subconsciously? He needed to know more—he couldn't let such a powerful trance state go to waste!_

_"What do you really think of me, Spock? What do you feel for me?"_

_But around him the room started to darken, and the shapes lost their solidity, as the drug pulled him from the edge of consciousness it had held him on into the depths of unconsciousness._

Jim took another sip of the strong Andorian coffee. Well, hell. He still didn’t know how he’d gotten the tattoo, but that didn’t matter. He’d probably tried to prove to Vig that he really was a mechanic. Most importantly—Spock. Where was he, was he okay? He'd probably left because he was worried that he was going to give the whole group away by not being able to control himself after drinking so much of the Romulan ale. He understood how anxious the Vulcan must have been to not be fully in control, so he should have gone back to the ship. But he’d left with that sleazy pirate guy… there were too many possibilities to consider.

He gulped down the rest of the coffee, paid, and rushed back to the ship. He searched it top to bottom, which didn’t take long. There was no one there.

 _Calm down!_ Maybe they'd all woken up before him—after all, his officers had all had less drugs than he had, since he’d tried to consume enough to get a small army high so that they wouldn't have to put themselves at risk.

He stormed out of the ship and strode towards the café again. He asked some of the people there if any of them had seen his friends. They'd seen the humans, they said. Chekov and Howard hadn't liked the look of the café and had gone in search of somewhere else—possibly to buy the raw ingredients for breakfast and prepare it themselves. But the Romulan, they said, hadn't been with them.

Jim wandered on, eyes on the lookout for his men. He found Chekov and Howard walking towards him, each carrying a bag of food. It did look better than Quol’s horrible rations, but was now really the time? He tried not to be too harsh on them… after all, the two had never had to deal with the fallout from Romulan ale before.

“You’d have been better off with Andorian coffee,” he said.

“We just thought—”

Jim cut them off with the wave of his hand. “No time. Do either of you have any idea what happened to Spock?”

"Ve've not seen him since he left last night. You vere talking to him, ve thought you knew where he'd gone."

“Sir,” Howard said, “I think some of the pirates from last night, we met them just now, the large dark blue one with the scales who looks like a fish and the one who looks like a giant ant… .”

Jim made a mental note not to let Howard be part of any diplomatic landing party—ever.

“… they said they will talk to you about the attack on the _Enterprise_. We said we’d get you at once, as they are leaving for a raid in an hour.”

“Ensign Howard, you take all this back to the ship and then start looking for Spock immediately. Chekov, do you still have any of Quol’s latinum left? Good—lead me to these pirates.”

He clenched his jaw. He _wanted_ to be the one looking for Spock. At least the pirates had a fair bit to say, but Jim was dubious as to how useful all the information he managed to get from them would prove to be. 

Although the same could be said from any information he'd found out last night. Really, when he thought about it, the most important thing he’d learnt was how exactly the pirates were organized and what kind of character Kroth was. It seemed the whole operation hinged on Kroth. Take this visionary leader out of the equation and they’d fall back into anarchy and not be a threat to anyone.

He hated to admit it, but he was very impressed with Kroth. The Klingon really had a base full of drugged up, drunken men, and yet by all accounts, he was running a sucessful operation. He'd clearly gotten the pirates to stand to attention and work as a unit when "on-duty". The guy at the bar back on the spacestation had not been wrong to state that they were a force to be reckoned with. They truly could be a threat to Saketh in particular. Kroth not only had this one base, no, he had a couple of fast ships and could move around easily. The only way to get rid of the threat was to eliminate the pirate's leader, although Jim knew he’d come with too few men to attempt to take him out. They’d all be dead in a heartbeat.

He watched the pirates take off for a raid. He wished he’d been able to sabotage them somehow, but there hadn’t been the opportunity to do so. He and Chekov turned back to head for the ship. Hopefully Howard had found Spock.

They found Howard standing outside the ship, looking like a nervous wreck. This wasn’t good. An ice cold fear ran through him.

“What happened to Spock, do you know? Where is he?” Jim asked.

Howard swallowed. “Um, sir. I found him.”

“Yes, so why is he not here, man?”

“Well… I didn’t talk to him, or see him for that matter, but… .”

“But what, Ensign? I expect you to pull yourself together and give me a straight answer.” He didn't care right now what state Howard was in from the night before. 

The talking-to worked and Howard stood up straight in front of his captain. “Sorry, sir.”

Jim waved his hand to get him to carry on quickly.

“I asked around. He’s over in section 3 of this base, the living section of the civilian inhabitants of the base. In a brothel, sir.”

Jim’s insides went cold at the thought. It was probably too late, probably had been by the time Howard had found out. He wasn’t to blame— _don’t rip the ensign's head off_. Images of Spock bound and gagged flashed in front of his mind’s eye, leaving him feeling sick to the stomach. He bit his tongue. Don’t shout at the guy. Spock in a brothel? It hadn’t occurred to Howard that maybe Spock had been drugged and kidnapped? Maybe they wanted to sell him off into slavery! 

Jim’s skin crawled and prickled. 

“Take me there immediately,” he said and the worry in his voice and the emotion in his eyes must have been evident, because Howard’s own eyes went wide and he ran off, Jim and Chekov matching his pace.

As Jim ran, various scenarios raced through his mind. Spock had been out of it a bit for a while now, of course—Bones hadn’t been too happy with his scan results and he'd been acting odd. But last night, on top of all that, Spock had been drunk; he'd decided to leave because he clearly hadn't trusted himself not to say something that would give them away as Starfleet officers. He might have been stronger than the human he'd left with, but what if the pirate's friends had shown up? It would have been all too easy for someone to take advantage of Spock in the state he'd been in.


	24. Chapter 24

Jim ran faster. Fuelled by the love for his friend, he dodged pedestrians, skidded around corners, and shouted for Howard to go faster, heedless of what any of the pirates might think—screw them. Screw them all and this whole damned base! The worry was eating away at his insides like corrosive warp coil cleaning fluid. His heart was beating in his chest far too fast; some of the drugs and their breakdown products still lingered in his system… he could feel it. Exercise and hangovers didn’t mix.

Howard stopped. Jim and Chekov came to a halt next to him, both gasping for air. Howard bent over double, rested his elbows on his knees, and threw up .

“Is this the place?” Jim asked between breaths.

Howard nodded. His dark skin had taken on an ashen tinge. Jim looked around: they were in a wide, high-ceilinged corridor resembling an alleyway. On either side, all the way up, ladders, ramps, and walkways clung to the corridor walls. Doors lining the walkways were set into the windowless façade; each entrance looked individual, shaped by years of either self-improvement or neglect .

He turned to Howard. “Where now?”

“Got the information from there,” the ensign said, and weakly waved in the direction of a blue-pained door , that had dangling, feathered charms hanging on it.

Jim banged against it. It was opened by an old man—one of the locals. He had the palest of green skin, white hair, pointy ears and blue lips.

“What you want? Bit early, isn’t it?”

“A… Romulan. Slim, pale skin, dark hair.” He pointed at Howard. “He asked about him—you said you knew where he was. Take us there! Now!”

“Alright, alright, we don’t want any trouble here, none of us do, see? So please, no weapons, no firing—don’t want anyone hurt.”

“I won’t give up my weapon, but I won’t carry it in my hand. Unless you refuse to help me.”

The old man hesitated. Jim made sure his expression left nothing to the imagination as to what he’d do if he didn’t receive the response he was after. Jim demonstratively tucked his weapon into his waistband. The man stepped out of his apartment and slammed the door shut behind him.

“This way,” he said.

He led them up one of the rickety metal ladders to a walkway that swayed; it was only attached to the wall with a few brackets, half of which were missing screws. The drop down to ‘street level' was a few floors , more than enough to shatter an ankle—or a skull.

The man pointed at a door, gave Jim a card to swipe over the entrance pad and hurried back the way they’d come. Jim took hold of his plasma weapon—promises to that old man be damned. He swiped open the door and peered inside carefully. No threat he could see. He went in at a stead pace, weapon aimed and ready to fire .

The room was a mess. It was also stuffy, warm, and moist. In the middle of the floor was a large mattress, or maybe it was simply a pile of blankets … he couldn’t tell. Spock was lying on it, his back to Jim . At the intrusion Spock’s arm shot up as he grabbed his own weapon from the overhead ledge. He twisted his upper body around quickly to face Jim. The minute recognition hit, Spock relaxed and dropped his weapon.

Jim was too stunned to move. Next to Spock (more like below, if he thought about it, which he didn’t want to) was a woman. Another pale Vulcanoid, black hair with sheens of blue, and lips the color of the void. She looked tiny next to Spock. At the sight of the weapon she scrabbled away from him and dived through a curtained doorway into an adjoining room. She wasn't wearing a thing, Jim noted.

He could see Spock was absolutely livid—his eyes were fixed on Jim’s Adam’s apple. Instinctively Jim raised his gun higher to protect himself from that rage, though his hand was shaking as he did so .

He was breathing heavily and the hold he had on the plasma gun was so tight his knuckles had turned white. He inched his way towards Spock until he was standing above him. Slowly he lowered the weapon.

“Get up,” he spat. “Now!”

Spock slowly rose from the tangled mess of sheets , clutching a blanket around his waist, eyes flicking to the door where Jim knew Chekov and Howard stood.

Jim took a deep breath. “Of all the things—” 

“Please, if we could discuss this in private—”

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear you interrupting me.”

At that moment the woman reappeared, dressed this time, although her clothing barely covered her chest. She grabbed a bag off the floor and ran past Jim and the others out through the main door. Jim made no move to stop her.

Good , Jim thought, now she was gone he could talk frankly without fear of someone listening in. 

Jim turned his full attention to Spock again. “No, we will not discuss this in private, but right here, right now. This is completely unacceptable.”

Spock stood to attention , the sheet now tied around his waist securely, but he had a murderous glint in his eyes when he looked over towards the two ensigns once more. Then the rage in his stare dissipated, leaving behind a steely calmness that had more in common with the edges of sharp knives than with tranquil lakes . He focused on a spot on the wall somewhere behind Jim’s left shoulder and, despite his state of undress, managed to look like the perfect soldier.

His voice was professional. It was emotionless. “I will not deny what I did. My conduct was unbefitting of a Starfleet officer and I accept any note you wish to place on my permanent record, Captain."

Jim was speechless. He’d just been calming himself down—maybe there'd been some misunderstanding . After all Spock had drunk a fair amount… but the way Spock was talking about this made his blood boil.

“When you left last night, I really needed you, Spock. I was so drugged up I couldn’t even tell my ass from my face. We all needed you. You should have stayed, but I figured you were worried you might give us all away—even though the ale was making you more Romulan and you weren’t anywhere near as far gone as I was. But that’s not why you left, was it? Answer me!”

Spock's eyes lost some of their steely calmness for a second. Only for a second though… his tone was even when he replied. “No.”

“Care to tell me why?”

Silence. It seemed Spock was contemplating his words, probably looking for some way to evade giving an answer without directly disobeying him, as that sneaky Vulcan tended to do.

Then Jim got his answer.

“No.”

“Fuck you , Spock. Fuck you!”

Jim tried to get his breathing under control; he knew his face was probably bright red. He didn’t need to deal with this—he could just walk away now. While Reid might not have deserved quite the talking too he’d gotten, Spock had earned every word. But the man didn’t care, did he? He just stood there like a fucking statue.

Jim strode past Chekov, whose face had gone pale. Both ensigns followed him out onto the walkway. Chekov lingered outside the entrance, though, clearly wanting to wait for Spock to dress and join them.

“We’re going back to Quol’s ship," Jim said. "I want to get out of here now. We aren’t going to wait for him. He can run to catch up with us. When we get to the ship, I want to do a cold start. No warming up of the engines, no systems’ check. We won’t give them any warning—we’ll tailgate out on thrusters when the next pirate raider leaves the base,” he paused to take a breath, “and then we’ll start injection on the warp-core, get it up and running and jump straight to maximum warp.”

Jim took long strides, and bumped into people on purpose. No one started a fight with him, though. On the main deck, exiting a shop, was the woman—that whore, as he called her in the privacy of his mind —who'd been with Spock. She was laden down with bags filled to the brim with satin garments in blue and pink and was wearing far too much chunky jewelry. Damn, how much of Quol’s latinum had he paid her for just one night? Surely not all of it? Spock had had enough latinum with him to buy a small spaceship.

People were scrambling to get out of their way faster now; it seemed Spock had caught up with them. Jim kept looking straight ahead. He couldn’t wait to finally be back aboard the _Enterprise_.

***

“Ve are being followed,” Chekov said and pointed at a red dot on one of the ship’s monitors.

There’d be more to come, Jim knew. The ship they’d tailgated out of the base had jumped to warp immediately, but their own warp core was still off-line. Spock and Howard were doing the best they could down in the engine room, but soon ships would be swarming around them like bees from a disturbed hive, if Kroth really did have his men as well organized as everyone said. 

“Warp core status?” he asked.

“Still off-line, sir,” Chekov replied. “And there are now two sheeps following us.”

“Shields up.”

He’d been prepared for a fight. Although Andorian engines were powerful, once shut down, it could take a long time to restart them—because the anti-matter was stored separately in rods for safety reasons when the engines were off-line. The anti-matter rods had to be reinserted slowly, with care to avoid blowing up the ship.

“How much time do we have until they catch us?” he asked.

“1 minute, 5 seconds."

A light on the control panel flashed—they had an incoming call.

“Put it on-screen.”

Chekov hit the switch and Kroth's smooth-skinned face appeared on the viewscreen. Not a scar in sight, Jim noted. It was disappointing he hadn't been able to meet Kroth in person, but he hadn’t really expected it—the man was too important to have the time to greet new recruits... and Jim hadn’t felt like hanging about that place even a minute longer.

“So, Jim. When can I expect Starfleet to be knocking on my doors? Assuming you make it back to Federation space alive.”

“You don’t still believe Quol, do you?”

“So what is this? You’re going for a morning jaunt? Do not take me for an idiot. You're Starfleet officers."

“My friends and I simply decided we’d rather chance it on our own,” Jim replied and Chekov cut the connection at Jim's signal.

“41 seconds. If ve go to warp, they vill still be able to track us. Ve cannot take a direct route back.”

“We’ve got all Quol’s navigational charts. I think we’ll be able to lose them quickly. Plot a course to... these co-ordinates, which should take us into an asteroid belt—assuming we can fight them off long enough to get to warp."

Jim watched the ships close on their position.

“On my command, fire on the closest ship.”

Chekov stared at the controls in front of him and grinned. “Sir! The engines are on-line !”

“Then get us the hell out of here.”

“Yes sir,” Chekov replied, beaming from ear to ear.

Not a moment too soon, Jim thought, as they went to warp.

***

“Spock, the skin is falling off both your hands! You have to let me help you bandage them.”

Jim hadn’t been able to find any first aid supplies on Quol’s ship, so he’d torn up some strips of cloth, boiled them in water and irradiated them under UV light. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could do for now. The strips of cloth were in a large bowl between himself and Spock, who was sitting on his sleeping pallet.

Jim dropped his voice to a whisper, although neither Howard nor Chekov were in the room. “I know how sensitive your hands are. I promise I’ll be as careful as I possibly can.”

It hurt him physically just to look at the damaged skin, knowing how much pain Spock's injuries must be causing him—pain that was no more visible on the pale face than any other emotion, though. Spock was ruthlessly suppressing the agony Jim knew he was feeling. ‘Pain is only in the mind, it can be controlled,’ Spock had said. But when Jim reached for the bandages in the bowl, Spock drew his hands closer to his body and shook his head slightly. Maybe he wasn't really willing to test his limits on how much he could keep bottled up, Jim thought. 

Jim rolled some of the bandages up into a ball. “See here. You can bite down on this. If the pain gets too much, just let it out and scream. This will muffle the noise. It’ll be days before we get back to the ship, ‘cause we’ve got to make sure we shake those pirates off our trail first.”

The Vulcan held out his raw hands, palms up-turned—they were dark green. Jim felt is heart squeeze in sympathy.

“Alright,” Spock said and opened his mouth just wide enough for Jim to place the bandages inside.

He was as careful as he could be, but Spock’s mask was starting to slip more with each added inch of cloth Jim wrapped around the bloodstained hands.

"I don’t think you know this yet, but we really were only seconds away from being caught by our pursuers. Your decision—it might well have saved our lives.”

The decision Spock had made had been to abort the slow, automated procedure and literally take the injection of the anti-matter rods into his own hands, not even wasting time to look for any safety gloves.

Spock’s hands were starting to shake.

“Nearly over.”

“Nnngh.”

Spock’s grunt was muffled through the gag. His eyes were closed in concentration—then another pained grunt.

“There , all finished,” Jim said.

Spock spat out the bandages.

“Thank you, Jim,” he panted.

He lay down on his back, his arms stretched out to his sides, careful to keep his palms from coming into contact with anything.

Lying down on his own sleeping pallet, Jim curled up with a blanket and watched the rise and fall of his friend’s chest.

“I’ll be right here if you need anything,” he said.

***

They’d got the last of the pirate ships off their trail. Now they were heading towards Luria II, where hopefully the _Enterprise_ would still be docked. It had been eight days now since he’d left his ship behind at the starbase; Scotty was a patient man, but they were about to find out just how patient. They’d arrive at Luria II in twenty-two hours. In his mind the long, boring hours stretched out ahead of him like the minutes did during an Academy lecture on Interspecies Ethics. With them at warp, no Quol to guard, and no pirates on their heels, there was only need for one of them to be on duty at a time. He’d just been relieved by Howard, who’d be relieved by Chekov... and then they’d basically be home. He had nothing to do until then. The ceiling in the living quarters above his bed looked just as unappealing as it had the time he’d stared up at it with the world’s worst hangover.

“Hey, Spock,” he whispered, not wanting to wake Chekov up.

“Yes, Captain?”

Jim took a deep breath. He'd had a lot of time to think about this.

"I’m sorry. About how I reacted when I saw you with that woman . I should have allowed you to explain in private, you deserved that much, but I went after you in front of the others instead.”

Spock didn’t reply.

“Again, I’m sorry. I really am. Will you tell me what happened? We can go down to the engine room to be alone.”

“I accept your apology. But it was a moment of weakness that made me want to explain myself to you, Captain. That has passed and I am willing to accept the consequences of my actions .”

“What do you mean? Spock, talk to me.”

“An official reprimand and a note on my record are both things I would prefer over having to give you details over what transpired. Please to do not ask me to explain.”

The meaning of Spock’s words was clear to him. His first officer would not disobey him if he made it a direct order, but even if he did, it would still be like pulling teeth. And although the Vulcan would never admit to such emotionalism, he’d probably hate Jim forever for it.

Jim rolled over in bed so he was no longer facing Spock’s direction.

“You’re a stubborn bastard, you really are,” he muttered.

Spock was only hurting himself by staying silent, but he couldn’t bring himself to betray his friend by taking the decision away from him. He trusted that Spock wasn’t withholding any information vital to their mission . If he’d had even the slightest of doubts about that he would have order him to talk.

Now what, though? He couldn’t sleep. Apart from the time he’d fallen unconscious after all the drugs and alcohol, he’d not had much rest . Without the help of Bones’ sleeping pills he didn’t think it was likely he was going to be getting any in the next twenty-two hours, either. Especially not having to sleep this close to Spock—Jim didn’t relish the thought of being left to guess at what exactly had happened once he'd left their table, and more importantly, why it had happened. Had sex with him meant as little to Spock as it had with that woman? 

He turned around again; it was getting to the point where he was so tired he simply felt nauseous. In an emergency he’d be no use at all, with the reaction times of a snail.

He shouldn't be thinking of that double box he'd discovered in one of his jacket pockets... and yet he was. Why hadn't he thrown it out of the airlock yet? He got up and retrieved the offending item. He'd get rid of it now.

But when he got to the airlock he didn't place the meekon in it. The skin all over his body broke out into goosebumps. The only difference between some drugs acting as medicine or as poison was the dosage, right? His throat was dry and his brow was damp with perspiration. This substance would get him to sleep, but more than that, if it put him in the same state of mind it had last time . He might even be able to deal with the root of his problems. Maybe Spock had been right and meditation did hold the key to his peace of mind. He made a decision.

With shaking hands he opened the box. He placed it into the airlock. He took a pinch of each powder, slammed the lid on the box, closed the hatch and pressed 'open'. It was ejected out into space—gone. He breathed a sigh of relief and felt his muscles relax.

It was only a small amount of the drug that he'd kept back and which still rested on his hand. He snorted the powder before he could change his mind. He sat down on the floor, leaned back against a bulkhead and pulled his knees up to his chest. His hand instinctively reached up to the back of his neck. 

Pike would never have pushed for him to get the _Enterprise_ if he’d known this was what Jim would be doing... disregarding all protocol because he had personal issues he didn’t know how else to deal with. And Chekov and Howard—if they told everyone about this mission... well, didn't he deserved that, really ? _The mirco-chipped captain who knows his illegal drugs. Great. Fucking fantastic_.

He shook his head and stumbled back to his sleeping pallet. This whole meekon thing had a point after all, to help him sleep and, although he didn’t want to get his hopes up, to help him meditate; he could regret it later. Now he had to focus on the problems he wanted his unconscious mind to reflect on . When he lay back and looked up at the ceiling, it started to spin: slowly at first, then ever faster. He closed his eyes, but that just made it worse—rather than the ceiling turning, it felt as if he was the one moving .

***

The flat plain of his consciousness was empty, it was desolate.

He thought the words ‘cold’ and ‘lonely’, and his mind moved quickly to supply him with a memory to match.

He was wet, freezing cold, battered and alone. The only person who'd ‘gotten him’, who in time might have come to understand him fully, who he wasn’t afraid to let close... was probably dead.

“Spock!” he cried out.

When he couldn’t pull himself up out of the water, his body too heavy, he felt his will to live flicker.

The memory was cold and lonely. It had matched his thoughts—that’s why his subconscious had taken him here! But he could control this, he could get away from the despair and he could get the information he wanted... he could do this! Love you , Spock, he thought and the words propelled him into another memory.

He was sitting at his desk in his quarters and Spock was standing a few feet away.

Jim took a deep breath. “I don’t like how pleading my voice sounds right now. I don’t like the way I’m feeling, don’t like this place, it’s far from an ideal situation. Either we take the next step in this relationship or….”

He sighed and buried his head in his hands. “I can’t take this anymore. Either a real, normal relationship or nothing!”

“I must think,” Spock said. “If you would excuse me.”

The doors swished open.

Then Jim took a step forward, something he hadn’t done at the time. The memory was no longer a static recollection of events, now he could act within this 'scene'.

“Wait, Spock. Don’t go. I know you’re going to break up with me. Just tell me why? What did I do wrong?”

The Vulcan stopped in the doorway, but didn’t turn around. “You wanted more from me than I could give .”

“Why won’t you give me your heart?” Jim didn’t dare close the gap between them, even though that was what his body was commanding him to do.

“I do not want to give it to you.”

“Why not?”

“I do not know you.”

Jim threw his hands up into the air. “Yes you do! You’re the only one who knows me.”

Still, Spock didn’t move. “I do not know you.”

“Okay, I know we haven’t known each other that long , really, but I’ll share more of myself with you, I’ll be more open, we’ll talk. We can take this slow.”

“But you are not willing to take it slow—or not able to. You did not like being with me.”

“I never said that!”

“You said you didn’t like the way you were feeling, the place you inhabited mentally—that what we shared was far from ideal.” 

Jim walked up to Spock. “Okay, that’s true and I did mean that… but I didn’t want you to leave me!”

“You desired either all or nothing. And I made my choice. Goodbye, Jim .”

The doors hissed shut behind him. The room darkened and Jim’s breath hung in the air, while ice crystals grew on his desk and frosted up the picture frame on his shelf. The light was so low he could only just make out the bulkheads, and then the room was in complete darkness—he was all alone in the void .


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not beta'd from here onwards. sorry. :(

_A man with a scarred face was pressed flush against Jim and was groping him—he wouldn't stop. Jim twisted his body and managing to hit him in the face with an elbow. Blood gushed from the man's nose onto Jim's shirt, staining it red._

"Keptin, wake up. We're back, we're home."

He opened his eyes. Chekov's smile was blindingly bright.

Then the words sank in as the dream faded. "The  _Enterprise_?"

"Still docked at Luria II."

Jim grinned. That's what he'd wanted to hear.

Spock and Howard were already in the cockpit and Jim and Chekov joined them. They were slowly approaching the  _Enterprise_ , his ship.

"Hail them," he said, and found it impossible to keep the elation out of his voice.

Howard punched in the commands—Spock was of course still unable to use his hands. But Bones would get him fixed up in no time now they were back.

Scotty's face appeared on screen. "I dinnae want to believe it when they told me the ship you'd run off with had returned. Had to see it myself to believe it! Welcome back Cap'n!"

Jim grinned from ear to ear. "Missed much?"

The smile slipped off Scotty's face. "Admiral Barrows was rather unimpressed when he called and you weren't in to pick up the call."

"Just leave the admirals to me, I'll sort them out."

"It's not that simple, sir. The  _Excalibur_  is already on her way to Saketh."

 

***

As soon as he'd returned, Jim had had to lock himself in his quarters so he could work at his desk to draft a quick, but thorough, report to the admirals. There was no way he'd allow Barrows to take them off the mission. He'd been working on it non-stop for hours, when the text started to blurr in front of his eyes—and he was still only half-way through. The whole time he'd kept one eye on his in-box, watching it fill up fast. He flicked through the messages on his PADD—nothing looked like it required an urgent reply.

 _Spock_ , he wrote, _I will be finished with my report in a few hours and then I'll submit it._

If his first officer had changed his mind and did want to explain his behaviour to Jim, then he'd know to look for him sooner rather than later. He sent it off and decided he needed to take a break. Not to mention there was someone he owed a visit.

 

***

"Wow, that was quick, Jim ," Bones said.

Jim looked at him blankly.

"How are you?" Jim asked and sat down on Bones' sickbay desk.

"How am I?"

"Yes, you. I know what day it is."

His friend looked at him in surprise.

"Well, I won't be able to talk to my little girl today, but we already knew that." He was silent for a moment; then he walked around his office picking up charts.

"Jim, the message I sent you, it was an urgent one, so I'm glad you're here."

"You probably sent it while I was on my way over, I haven't read it. What's up?" Jim said, switching into Captain's mode immediately.

He got off Bones' desk and went to stand behind the doctor's chair instead so he could look over his shoulder at the charts.

"Rumor on this ship travels faster than light speed. It might only have been a few hours, but I already know about Spock and that prostitute. And about the talking to you gave him. Now I don't blame you, in fact it's nice to know Spock doesn't get special treatment, I know you've grown very attached to him, but he had a good reason."

Jim groaned. "Yeah, I thought there had to be some logic behind the madness, but he wouldn't talk to me. Did he tell you?"

Bones snorted. "Here's the data I took from him just before you guys left for the starbase and then ran off to chase pirates." He handed over a PADD. "The more models I ran it through, the more certain I was that something very wrong was happening to Spock's body. The results showed that Spock was dying! I was worried sick so I sent the data to some specialists in Vulcan physiology, whose reply was to forward me a dossier on this Vulcan condition called Pon Farr."

Jim's jaw was hanging open. Bones tone was reassuringly calm, and Spock was still alive, but he needed to hear it.

"Spock's not going to die, is he?"

"We're all going to die, Jim, and with you as our captain, probably sooner rather than later. Chasing pirates, taking drugs … I really want to strangle you, you know that? But don't worry, Spock's not going to die this time. I've already sent out my reports to Starfleet's experts and copied you in on them. They were convinced he wasn't going to survive-nice to be able to prove them wrong."

"So was it or wasn't it this Pon Farr condition?"

"I don't know. Apparently male Vulcans go into heat every seven years. They must return home to their partner and mate or die, that is the Pon Farr. But Spock's wife died on Vulcan."

Jim nodded his head. Spock had said every Vulcan should have a wife, and he'd wondered at that at the time. Now he was finally putting some of the puzzle pieces together.

Bones continued, "All the data suggests that he entered the Pon Farr. That's what the medical results say, but on the other hand the circumstantial evidence is against it. He's too young to enter the Pon Farr, far too young in fact, there's no reason why he might. And he survived, but he certainly didn't … ."

The doctor gripped the PADD in front of him tightly, his knuckles turning white.

"The poor guy certainly wasn't able to simply go back to Vulcan where his wife would have been waiting for him."

No, but he'd certainly found himself another woman.

"Don't look so crestfallen, Jim, I scanned Spock thoroughly when I healed his hands. He's definitely fine now. Whatever it was, it passed."

"If he's too young, is there some other explanation?"

Bones snorted. "As much as I can't and don't want to picture that stiff-as-a-board Vulcan having sex… I mean can you imagine it?"

Jim could do better than imagine sex with Spock of course, he could remember—he knew exactly what it was like to have such an unresponsive partner in bed. It annoyed him that Bones likened Spock to a board, but he had to admit the doctor wasn't far off the mark.

"But yeah," Bones continued, "Spock, like all male Vulcans, went through a phase during his teenage years in which he experienced Pon Farr like symptoms. If they don't get laid a lot they can get very agitated, which is probably some massive understatement, but they won't die. I guess its practice for the real thing. Apparently Vulcans marry at age seven, and that's the reason—they need to have a partner before puberty hits, which like in human males can start any time between the age of nine and fourteen."

"So you're saying it might've been some throw-back to his teenage years?"

So had he or hadn't he married that woman? Had be bound himself telepathically to a complete stranger? This was going to drive him nuts if he didn't get a definite answer.

"It's a possibility," Bones replied.

"Why didn't you tell me about this as soon as I got back on board?" Jim handed him back the data PADD.

"I was going let you know first thing, but then of course I found out Spock was fine, so it didn't seem urgent—and you'd locked yourself away to catch up on work. When I heard the rumors I wanted to tell you before you filed any reports with Starfleet about the green hobgoblin, though. Whether this was a full Pon Farr or just Pon Farr-like symptoms, Spock probably really did believe that he was dying."

Jim nodded numbly. "I can't believe I didn't stop to think about what was going on at the time. I was just so mad. I humiliated him in front of the others, and he might've been dying."

So much for not letting Ensign Howard go on any diplomatic missions due to his lack of tact when it came to alien races—he himself was the real culprit. He swallowed past a hard lump that had formed in his throat.

"Hey, hey, don't be hard on yourself," Bones said. "No starship captain would have reacted any differently. Jim, look me in the eye. There you go. Now listen. Of course you weren't going to be pleased finding him in bed with a prostitute, were you? You did nothing wrong. It's entirely Spock's fault for being such a tightlipped bastard. He had the choice to tell you what was going on with him and he chose not to, because he was just too embarrassed to talk about it. But guess what? Spock may have missed the memo, but being embarrassed is not a valid reason for withholding such information from your Captain. No, you were quite right to react the way you did."

Bones pulled a bottle of liquor out from the bottom drawer of his desk. "But maybe a report to Starfleet HQ isn't necessary, eh? Guy's already got a stain on his record what with his affair with Uhura."

"None for me," Jim quickly said before Bones could pour him a glass.

He let go of the back of Bones' chair and sat down on the edge of the desk; he had a lot to think about. The Pon Farr stuff did explain the confusing signals he'd gotten from Spock after they'd broken up. But he hadn't come to sickbay because of Spock—he'd come to be a good friend to Bones, whose problems were arguably greater than his. When he was alone in his quarters later, he could mull over everything he'd learnt about Vulcans and Spock.

"Don't let me stop you from having a drink, Bones, you probably need it."

"That I do," he said, and poured himself a generous measure. "The old dragon not only won't let me talk to Jo today, no, she's threatening to never let me talk to her again, because I dared complain about the situation."

"Bones, I'm so sorry! I don't know what to say."

His friend sank back into his chair and gulped down his drink. "You don't need to say anything. That you came to see me because you knew what day it was, not because of the message I sent you, that actually means a lot to me."

 

***

After the revelation Jim had had in sickbay he was able to finish the report after only one further hour's work; it helped that he left out a large chunk of what had happened towards the end of that mission. Then he tried to do as much research as he could on this Pon Farr thing. He read over the information Bones had received, but the various accounts included in the dossier contradicted each other! One document written by a Vulcan nurse on Earth a decade ago stated female Vulcans weren't under the influence of the cycle, another paper written by a visiting biology Professor, who was Vulcan, at the Tellar Institute of Science said that they were.

There were letters, news articles, doctor's notes and even some high quality articles which had been published in the most obscure scientific journals—probably because talking about this was to break some kind of Vulcan taboo.

Once he'd worked through all that information, he was more confused than before, so he ran a search in the database on anything about other species on Vulcan.

Jim opened the first file that matched his search—a correspondence letter in the journal 'Mammalian Circadian Rhythms, volume 6835'.

 _I disagree with the findings of Petros et al in last month's publication that the disruption of the circadian rhythm of_ Sehlat Vorekis  _results in their death. I also entreat that their licenses for work with animals be revoked._

He skimmed a few paragraphs relating to the ethical treatment of lab animals .

 _... is linked with the reproductive cycles to which 86.53% of mammals on Vulcan are subject. The researchers seem to have further failed to divine the full purpose of that cycle. It is not only to ensure that offspring are born during the wet period, which occurs every 6.7216 Standard years on the planet, but also to ensure no weak members of the species pass along their genes. The mass migration of_ Sehlat Vorekis _to their mating grounds has the consequence of forcing males to fight for the right to copulate. Adult sehlats who are too weak to secure a mate die, thus cleansing the gene pool, strengthening the species, and decimating population levels to allow the next generation access to the resources they require to grow._

_Petros et al, however, only allowed their captive sehlats access to mates, not to their ancestral mating grounds. The reason most of their sample population died was due to this, and not due to the artificially induced disruption of their circadian rhythm._

Jim closed the article on his screen with shaking fingers. The harshness of 40 Eridani's three stars really had created a people who abhorred weakness; it was ingrained in their biology. He'd never heard of all of Vulcan coming to a halt every seven years for some gruesome fights to the death to win the right to have sex, so he was pretty sure that Vulcan's weren't subjected to that. But Pon Farr did sound hauntingly like this mating cycle.

And he tried, the emphasis being on tried, to find out the answers to all the questions he still had from talking to Spock the next day. Before shift, even during shift (it was a slow one-they were still docked at Luria II until he received confirmation from the admiralty as to whether they would be heading back to Saketh or not) and finally he tried questioning his first officer once more when their shift was over and they were alone in the turbolift together.

"So … are Vulcans anything like salmon?" he asked Spock. "I mean, um, not that I think you're like a fish, but salmon also have an instinct to return to their breeding grounds at some point in their lives to … ."

He stopped speaking because Spock was giving him a sideways look that had daggers in it and it was clear he was going to refuse to answer any such questions. Fine, he got the message, he wasn't stupid, but there had to be someone else he could ask.

He took his dinner in his quarters and spent the evening making calls to Earth. Finally he was put through to the most senior Starfleet doctor in San Francisco assigned to working with the Vulcans. Short of finding an actual Vulcan healer, he was the most informed expert there was. He would be stationed on the new Vulcan colony when it was set up. Jim reasoned he had their trust, so he must know about Pon Farr.

"Doctor Sargoni," Jim said, "thank you for taking my call. I know it's very late in California."

Sargoni smiled. "That's quite all right. I just got a message saying you had some questions and are currently looking at the viability of a planet for Vulcan settlement-you can call me any time. I'd be glad to help in whatever way I can."

Jim related the basics of what had happened to the doctor, leaving out as much as possible. He felt a bit guilty at talking about a part of Spock's life that was apparently very private to Vulcans, but hell, Spock was a Starfleet officer under his command.

"Hmmm… even considering the possibility that he married the Vulcanoid woman, I would say that it is highly unlikely Commander Spock went through Pon Farr since he survived. But no doubt it may have been very difficult for the Commander to accurately assess what he was facing. He's too old for the burn of the teenage years of a Vulcan, but too young to experience Pon Farr. The symptoms would have been similar for both - they would have clouded his judgement and made it hard for him to do anything but act instinctively."

"Doctor, I already know that."

Sargoni furrowed his brow. "Then what is it you want to know?"

"Well," Jim said and folded his hands in front of him. "I do have a question that is related to all this. The dossier sent to Doctor McCoy states that they would normally return home to their spouses. And you implied the Commander should have died had it been Pon Farr, even if he had found himself a wife. Is that because even if he'd had a wife he wouldn't have been able to return home—to Vulcan? How does losing their planet affect them?"

The doctor was silent, his mouth set in a grim line.

"Very astute of you, Captain. You already understand that you are not to repeat any of what you have already learnt for the sake of the Vulcan people's privacy, but what I'm going to tell you now is genuinely classified information."

Sargoni wrung his hands. "I don't mind telling you. I think you need to know. You have a Vulcan on board and you're looking for a new planet for them."

"What information has Starfleet been keeping from me?" Jim's eyes narrowed, picturing Admiral Barrows sorting through files, deciding which information was too good to pass onto Jim Kirk.

"When I first started gathering information on Pon Farr from the survivors I was told that it was something they don't speak of even amongst themselves. I assumed that was an exaggeration, but they were telling the truth-I felt like I was questioning primary school kids on sex. As you experienced yourself, there are many contradictory accounts and at first I put this down to the Vulcans themselves not knowing anything about the condition. As it turned out they were more right than we thought: across the entire population there's this huge variety in how the Pon Farr manifests itself.

"So, for example, some women experience it, while others don't?" Jim asked.

"Precisely. Over the millennia the Vulcan mating cycle was disrupted as their way of life became increasingly divorced from nature by spending more and more time indoors, exposed to unnatural light. In some populations on Vulcan Pon Farr is weak, but in others the ancient drives are still as strong as ever."

"So where does that leave the Vulcan survivors?"

"It leaves them with sad statistics. While some are guaranteed to survive their time, others are guaranteed not to. For others their chance of survival will depend on their experience and mental schooling."

"I take it that was one of the aims of your research, to find out who would be likely to survive. So tell me about Commander Spock."

"I can't tell you that," Sargoni replied.

"You're a Starfleet doctor, aren't you?" Jim said sternly. "Spock signed away his right to medical privacy when he took up his commission. I have here an officer who behaved out of line and no credible reason why. All we know is that he had Pon Farr-like symptoms. Whatever you know, I can assure you, it's relevant."

The doctor seemed to consider this. Jim knew the results of his research were probably classified, in which case he didn't have the authority to request the data. On the other hand the guy had already shared classified information with him, so he might be in luck.

"It's not for certain, Captain, as we cannot tell from DNA analysis how a Vulcan will experience Pon Farr, but from questioning his grandfather we know that in Spock's family it does seem that it's rough. If he'd already been through at least one cycle I might give him more of a chance, but under the current conditions I do not think it possible that he'd survive."

 _Grandfather? He must mean Ambassador Spock. In which case the information was absolutely accurate._  A cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Even if he had a wife?"

"Even then. He'd not be able to satisfy the instinct to return home and that would kill him first."

"Is there nothing the Vulcans can do? No medicine they can take?" Jim's fists were tightly clenched in front of him.

"There's one discipline called the Kolinahr, in which Vulcans purge themselves of all emotions. Kolinahr was something only very few attempted, less than one in a million Vulcans, and of those still only a fraction of a percent ever mastered it fully. None of whom survived."

Jim looked away, his brain racing.

A shiver ran down his spine. "But Spock could learn it, couldn't he? Someone could teach him that discipline?"

"Again, I'm so very sorry. Many male Vulcans are now attempting to complete the discipline, but they'e in emotional turmoil. They just lost their world. None are really in any fit state to even start contemplating learning it in earnest. It'll take a long time before they're in such a place mentally and by then it might already be too late."

"So is there no way to help the Vulcans?"

"Well," and now Sargoni sounded less gloomy, "that's where my colleagues and I come in. We're collecting genetic material and sperm from all Vulcan males at risk of dying, which is unfortunately the majority—most of the women do not suffer this seven year cycle, though. We can use artificial insemination. Their race will survive."

"But many won't live very long and Spock... ."

The silence between them was grave.

"Thank you for answering my questions," Jim said finally, his voice wavering ever so slightly.

Sargoni nodded. "I'm glad I was able to shed some light on the situation."

 

To be continued...


	26. Chapter 26

"I'm sorry, but you can't just come in here," a guard said, blocking Maxime's entrance to the Vulcan settlement in San Francisco.

Maxime produced his press pass. "I'm here to do some research for a documentary. I want to interview some Vulcan survivors."

The guard narrowed her eyes. "Come with me, sir."

She led him into a building adjacent to the main road into the community.

"Sit there and wait while I make some calls."

Fine, he could wait. Although he didn't have his network's approval, he had the approval of a Vulcan ambassador. Sure, not the approval of Vulcan's ambassador to Earth, but some other important Vulcan ambassador. An old man, who was possibly going senile as when he'd asked which planet he was ambassador to he'd replied 'Romulus'. On top of that the Vulcan seemed rather emotional, maybe another sign that he'd gone a bit loopy. But Maxime decided he didn't care if he was taking advantage of an old man--he just needed access to the community.

***

As soon as Jim ended the call to Dr Sargoni he was able to let his feelings have free reign over his body. His hands had already been shaking, now the other muscles in his body followed suit, until his whole body was trembling. Vulcan was gone. He hadn’t been able to stop Nero from massacring a whole race and destroying their home. Tears stung his eyes. He’d tried so hard to suppress the anger, the pain, the feeling of uselessness, but he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Not when faced with the very real consequences of what had happened that day. Consequences Spock lived with every single fucking day. How did the man even manage to get up in the morning? 

Jim buried his face in his hands. He’d struggled to find his way back to normalcy, but there was no normalcy for Spock to go back to and he’d selfishly ignored that. The harsh truth was that he hadn’t be able to handle that thought, hadn’t been able to deal with Spock’s overwhelming devastation and so he’d pushed all that to one side and pretended it didn’t exist. Had he ever asked Spock how he was feeling? No. And ever since their first kiss he’d tried to mould their relationship into what he wanted it to be, regardless of whether such a relationship was even possible for Spock considering all he was going through. 

A light on his computer terminal flashed. He had a message from headquarters. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself down.

 _Rendezvous at Saketh with the USS_ Excalibur _. They are carrying a contingent of Vulcan scientists who will assist you in your joint mission to establish the suitability of Saketh for resettlement of the Vulcan survivors._

Jim wiped the tears from his eyes and sat up straight in his chair. He could accept those orders. As long as Barrows didn’t take them off the mission, it was all fine by him and the more ships they had to fight the pirates with the better. There was no point in wishing that another ship with another captain had been sent—he’d tried to save the Heuygen’s system from the Klingons and made an enemy of Patel in the process. It was just another thing he had to live with. 

He cleared his throat. "Kirk to bridge. Set a course for Saketh immediately. Warp four."

The chronometer on his desk showed it was only four hours until he planned to be standing on the bridge again--there really was no point in trying to catch any sleep. He leant back in his chair. It would take about a week to get back to Saketh. Saketh, the planet that would never be ‘home’ to Spock, even if the Vulcans did resettle there. That place would never call to him when his time came.

He scooped up his PADDs, made himself a coffee and he sat down on the sofa-bench. All this time Spock had known he only had years left, maybe a decade at best. Bones had been right when he'd told Jim that Spock had had no one to talk to. He'd been a lousy friend to Spock--and a lousy lover, he now realized. It was embarrassing that he’d felt he’d needed drugs to help him understand the situation, when it really was so simple.

At no point in their relationship had Spock ever thrown his arms wide open to embrace Jim and invite him into his heart, but who could blame him? Spock had lost so much. At that thought Jim had to put his coffee down so it wouldn’t spill, as his hands started to shake again. It took him a few deep breaths to control himself. He couldn’t even start to comprehend the feeling of loss that Spock was carrying around inside him. It wasn’t surprising he didn’t want to open himself up to further pain, that he’d be cautious and that it would take even the most patient lover a lot of time and effort to get Spock to put down some of his amour. 

What had he done to help Spock through the pain of losing everything he’d ever known? Nothing. He’d been too goddamned self-centered to think about anything other than how the relationship was affecting him. _I’m frustrated, I’m paranoid, my sanity is in tatters._ And he’d been demanding and pushy. When his feelings had grown he hadn’t been content to allow Spock’s the time they needed to develop, no, he’d pushed the grieving Vulcan to take their relationship to the next level, whether he was ready to or not. All or nothing, was the choice he’d given Spock

Would it've been that hard, really, to just let Spock be? To love and care for him without demanding anything in return? The answer to those questions wasn’t straightforward, he knew. He wanted to be self-less, but he could ill afford to let his personal life distract him from his command. 

He finished his coffee.

"Computer, locate Commader Spock."

***

The lights in the lab were turned down low to simulate night so that the plants in it would grow naturally, with a day and night cycle. Most of them were descended from Vulcan plants, but you wouldn’t know it from how large and green their leaves were. It was as if a sub-tropical forest had invaded the biology labs. His first officer was standing on the other side of the room with his hands clasped behind his back, facing away from him.

“Spock?” 

“Yes, Captain?” his friend didn’t turn around.

In a few shorts strides Jim crossed the room and stood next to him. Spock’s face was basked in a luminescent green from the dim light reflected off the plants all around them. He looked so alien.

“Seems I'm not the only one who has trouble sleeping,” he said.

“Vulcans can go for a week without sleep if necessary.”

Jim shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea how long humans can last. I think my personal record is 63 hours. Doesn't mean it’s any good for me.”

“Is there something you wish to discuss?”

Spock still wasn't looking up. When Jim followed his gaze to see what it was he was staring at so intently he found he couldn’t look away again.

It was the small plant they'd rescued from Saketh. They'd wanted to give it a chance to live and grow. He let his memory take him back to that place, that time … how different things had been between them then. They’d been looking forward, towards a brighter future.

He returned his eyes to Spock’s face. And now where did they stand?

“I've been a useless friend recently, haven't I? And I was even worse at being your lover.” 

It spoke volumes that Spock didn't even try to correct him. Jim chuckled, but it was without humor. Things had gone wrong so quickly and so spectacularly.

“I miss our easy friendship and the closeness we shared,” he added. 

“So do I,” Spock replied, and it warmed Jim to hear that.

Spock regarded him levelly. “You want to know what happened on the pirates’ starbase.”

He did, but he also knew that was the last thing Spock wanted to talk about. 

“I know all about Pon Farr now,” he said. “And what happened there, it wasn’t Pon Farr, was it? Because you aren't going to survive the real thing, are you?” The last words were spoken in a whisper.

The edges of Spock’s lips lifted slightly. “There are always possibilities. Those who currently predict my demise cannot claim to be in possession of all the facts; that would be an impossible feat.”

“Now you're starting to sound like me.” Jim couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. 

It hadn’t crossed his mind that Spock might disagree with the experts, with his future self even, about his chances of survival, but he was overjoyed that he did. Spock hadn’t lost his spark or his will to fight.

Taking a deep breath, Jim spoke quickly. “So, um, this is awkward.” Understatement of the millennium. “But, well, how’re you feeling now? Since it wasn’t Pon Farr ... has whatever you were suffering passed completely? Do you need any kind of, eh, help?”

Spock studied him long and hard and he found it difficult to stay calm under such intense scrutiny. 

“If it is not Pon Farr, and it seems likely that it is not, then it will not be fatal. I will endeavor to control myself.”

That was as close to an admission as he was going to get from his friend that he was still suffering from strange symptoms. Jim didn't know how to react, he’d hoped Spock would just say that he was fine and that would be it. 

“Does Bones know?” 

“I have not informed the doctor yet, as the symptoms only returned a few hours ago. Jim-.”

“I love you.” There, he'd said it. 

He looked up at Spock and searched his eyes. Spock’s stance had thawed at his confession, his hands now resting at his sides. His eyes were as dark and mysterious as always. 

“And I know you’re not in the right place now for a proper relationship and that it was unfair of me to try and push you when you weren’t ready. I didn’t see that before, but I see it now.”

He reached out with his hand and gently traced the line of his jaw. Hopefully he wasn’t overstepping any boundaries, but the urge to touch Spock was too strong to resist and Spock so hard to figure out. Spock didn’t flinched away, not this time. 

“I’m not really sure where this leaves us,” Jim said. 

In reply Spock placed a hand over Jim’s and squeezed it. They stood that way for minutes. 

“I do not know either,” Spock said eventually. 

“You need some time to think?” Jim said, an understanding smile tugging at his lips. 

Spock let go of Jim’s hand. “Time to meditate.”

“Do you need … ?”

Jim took a step back and ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes lingered on the plant with the blue flower. Silence settled between them again. 

Spock suddenly reached out and grabbed Jim’s wrist. “When you told me you loved me, I could not control the beating of my heart.” 

His admission was underscored by him intertwining his fingers with Jim’s. 

“The depth of your feelings for me is not something I am presently able to return, though,” Spock continued.

Jim held on tight to Spock’s fingers. “Are you willing to give us chance?”

“You do not give up, do you?”

“Nope, never. As you said, there’re always possibilities.” Jim grinned. 

Spock looked down at their hands. “Yes, it is possible that I will one day heal and will then want to give you my heart. I cannot think of anyone else I would be more likely to give it to. But that day may never come.” He squeezed Jim’s hand so tight that it hurt. “I must rely on my mental disciplines, or I will be consumed by the anger and grief that have taken over my heart.”

“If I want to take the easy, painless route out, then all I have to do is walk through that door right now.” Jim pointed towards its dark outline in the wall. “But you know what? I’d rather not live wondering what may have been if only I’d stuck with you during this time. They say that clear skies follow every rainstorm, but you and I both know that the people who say that are the ones who made it through the storm, not those who fell by the wayside. If you’re willing to put up a fight, them I’m willing to stand by your side and be there for you when you need shelter and comfort, whether you make it through or not.”

Spock withdrew his hand from Jim’s. “I do not believe such a one-sided relationship would be a healthy one. You cannot hope that I will be able to give you anything in return for all that you offer me.”

Jim sighed. “You’re right. It wouldn’t be healthy, I agree--like I said, the painless way out for me is through that door over there.”

He turned away from Spock and walked over to the nearest bulkhead—he reached out for it. All he felt at first was the coldness of the metal, but once his fingers adjusted to the sensation he could feel the steady low rumbling of the _Enterprise_ , and it gave him an immense comfort. It was not unlike touching Spock.

“But you know how I make my command decisions during a crisis? Intuitively. And that’s not illogical. On training missions, during my tours of duty at the academy, through commanding this ship, even through sitting in lectures and reading books, I’ve built up a wealth of information to draw upon. When push comes to shove, the intuitive decisions I make are based on all my experiences to date.”

“You do what feels right.”

Jim couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, exactly.” He smiled softly. “And this, us, it feels right. Remember down on Saketh, when the sun was rising after the first day we’d spent there? I know you allowed your guard to drop then and what I saw wasn’t anger. It was hope. You will get through this, I know it.”

He grinned broadly. “I feel it.”

Spock walked to the door. “Will you spend what’s left of the night with me?”

Jim’s breath caught in his throat. They’d never spent the night together and Spock knew how much that had bothered him. He understood this was Spock’s way of reaching out to him. It wasn’t much compared to how far Jim was willing to go in putting Spock’s needs ahead of his own, but it was symbolic; Spock was showing him that he was ready to put himself outside of his comfort zone too for Jim’s sake. 

Jim pushed past Spock and pinched his ass. “Your quarters or mine?”

***

Jim felt himself relax in the cozy homeliness of Spock’s quarters. His own were sparse and cold in comparison. Warm drapes and Vulcan artifacts, most of them probably priceless now, lined the walls and shelves. His elegant Vulcan string instrument was in the corner.

Spock’s eyes were on him, large and dark, causing Jim’s heart to hammer against the walls of his chest as if it wanted to escape to safety. 

Jim leant in for a kiss. Their lips met in a cautious brush. Running his hands down Spock’s frigid back Jim pulled him closer and kissed him hard. He wanted to melt away the tension with the warmth of his hands and lips. In turn Spock’s arms encircled his own body, drawing him closer. He’d forgotten how good it felt to be held in those arms.

When he kissed his way from the prominent chin, along the strong jaw to the nape of the neck Spock promptly lifted him up off his feet and carried him to the sleeping area. He held on tight; he’d not expected this. Spock had never done anything of the like before. It should probably have been a huge turn-on; it was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? For Spock to show him how much he desired him. But instead his heart was heavy with the knowledge that this was all just due to the Vulcan’s hormones going crazy. He could be anyone right now--all Spock wanted was his body. 

The bed beneath his back was soft as he lay back on it while Spock made quick work of getting them both undressed. He closed his eyes and tried to stop thinking. Thinking wasn’t good right now. Next to him he felt the mattress move as Spock lay down, too.

“Jim?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Open your eyes.”

With a quiet sigh he obeyed the request. Spock looked gorgeous with his lips wet and slightly parted. He was so exotic. 

The alien carded his fingers through Jim’s hair. Then he scooted up the bed and pulled back the cover, inviting him to join him under it. He was starting to chill, so he had no complaints and slipped under the covers quickly. 

Spock pulled him close. “So that there are no misunderstandings, should anyone ever use a Klingon mindsifter on you and come across this moment: we are not cuddling.”

Jim burst out laughing.

***

Jim’s reunion with Patel in the transporter room of the _Excalibur_ was as frosty as he had predicted and he wished they were been on better terms. But he couldn’t turn back time and be less of a jerk towards him during the negotiations with the Klingons. 

The two of them walked towards the _Excalibur’s_ conference room. 

“Did you find out a lot about the pirates?” Patel asked, breaking the silence. “Headquarters haven’t forwarded me your report yet.”

“Haven’t they? I’ll send you a copy as soon as I’m back on my ship.”

They reached the conference room, in which a dozen Vulcan scientists, some of the few remaining, were waiting. They were all diligently introduced to him. He’d thought Spock was closed off, but meeting these people was a real eye-opener. Now he could understand why people got the impression that Vulcans were little more than walking, talking computers. If he hadn’t known Spock, hadn’t seen the emotion on the faces of the Vulcan elders when they’d been beamed up from the crumbling surface of their planet, then he might’ve been fooled into believing they had no feelings. 

“What threat do the pirates pose to a future colony on Saketh?” one of the scientists asked.

It was a question Jim had been dreading, as he really wanted them to have a good impression of the planet, but there was no point in hiding the truth. 

“They are major a threat, but one we can deal with, I’m sure.”

On cue, the red alert lights started flashing and sirens howled out. Patel reached over for the intercom. “Bridge, report!”

“Another ship just jumped out of warp right into the planet’s atmosphere. We think it’s the pirates, sir.”

Kroth had impeccable timing, Jim thought bitterly. The two captains raced to the bridge, where a lieutenant turned around in her chair as soon as Patel exited the turbo-lift. “Sir, they’ve landed on the planet. I’d say they’re out of firing range. Should we lower shields and beam up the landing parties?”

“Lieutenant Ro,” Patel barked at someone else, “do our long range sensors pick up any other vessels?”

“No, sir,” Ro answered, “but they dropped out of warp right in front of us; there’s no telling if or when more ships might arrive.”

“Engineering, lower shields and start beaming up the landing parties.”

Jim left the bridge. “Hey, Captain Kir-.”

The doors closed behind him and he was in the lift going back the way he’d come. He ran through the corridors, skidded into the transporter room and jumped up onto the transporter pads where a landing party had just materialized.

“Down to the planet?” the ensign at the transporter controls asked.

“Yes, down to the planet. Energize.”

The mist enveloped him as his atoms were scattered into the cracks in space.

When he rematerialized he shook himself into shape. Already the last of the _Excalibur’s_ away teams were being beamed up and were disappearing in front of his eyes.

“Kirk to Enterprise.”

“Scotty here.”

“I want a security team down here right now,” he said.

“Ay, sir. We weren’t expecting you to beam down. The commander is putting together a team.”

“Keep an eye on the situation from up there. I want to know what the pirates are up to.”

“I’ll send ye down some maps of their locations as soon as I can, Capt’n.”

“Can you pass me the co-ordinates where Spock and the security team will beam down to?”

“Sure,” Scotty said. “Captain Patel has almost got his scientists back up and’ll be sending security teams down shortly.”

“As soon as Commander Spock’s down here with his team, I want shields up again in case more of their friends decide to pay us a visit, Kirk out.”

He looked around—he was on a hill, but he didn’t recognize the location. With the help of the map that Scotty had sent him it didn’t take him long to get his bearings, though. A landing party materialized only twenty meters away from him. 

“Captain,” Spock greeted him, “Mr. Scott informed me you had beamed down.”

There was no accusation in the neutral tone of his voice and yet he could tell that it bothered Spock.

“You know I’m not one for the regulations, Spock,” he said grinning.

“Indeed.” 

Jim pointed to his right. “It looks like the pirates headed straight for the mountain city.”

“It will be hard for us to retake it. You have seen that it is highly defensible.”

“But we’ve spent weeks mapping out that place. I remember seeing that there was a second entrance into the mountain on one of Sulu’s maps.”

Jim’s communicator beeped and he accepted the call. “Patel to Kirk.”

“Kirk here,” he replied.

“I’ve sent a landing party down the planet. I’m transmitting the coordinates to you now.”

Jim watched the coordinates appear on his communicator’s display. He handed it over to Spock and looked over his shoulder as he plotted them on his tricorder’s map.

“Your team’s very close to us,” Jim said, taking his device back from Spock. “There’re only two entrances to the mountain city. I’m hoping they only know about the main one. We’re heading for the second entrance now, so it’s probably best if your men guard the main gate.”

“Agreed. Oh and Captain Kirk, we can’t get a lock on the pirates inside the mountain, so I expect that once you’re underground we won’t be able to get you out. Good luck!”

“Thanks, Kirk out.”

To be continued...


	27. chapter 27

They sped down the hill towards the mountain, which rose tall on the other side of a stream banked by grassy meadows. Jim had to slow himself so that he wouldn’t twist his ankle on the springy ground. When he reached the stream he saw that it was too wide to jump across. 

Spock came to a stop beside him. “There is no way around it.”

“Didn’t think so.” 

Jim leapt forward into the stream. The water plashed up over the top of his boots. It was just as cold as the water inside the mountain city had been that had almost been the death of them. He walked on through it, his jaw clenched. All around him he could hear the splashes of the rest of the away team as they followed his lead through the noisy water. Spock was right behind him; he moved aside so he could talk to him.

“Spock, we’re going to be going into the mountain.”

“I am aware of our plan.”

“How do you feel about that? Do you think you’ll be alright in there?”

The tugging of the current at his uniform pants was an additional reminder of what had happened last time.

His first officer increased his pace, leaving Jim behind. Soon he’d reached the other bank. Jim stopped in the middle of the stream. This was not what he needed right now. Could he trust Spock? He remembered that he’d become obsessed almost the moment they’d set foot on the planet. Could whatever had affected him in the Katric Ark have caused that obsession? 

As he approached the other side Spock offered him a helping hand up the small incline of the bank. Jim accepted with a smile, but Spock didn’t let go of his hand and pulled him close; he could feel Spock’s breath on his face. 

“Something or someone is trying to get into my mind,” he whispered into his ear. 

Then he let go--the whole motion had only taken seconds. To anyone watching all he’d done was help his Captain out of the stream. 

It certainly answered his question though. There was something wrong about this planet; maybe it had been abandoned with good reason. Whatever it was, they’d find out and deal with it, because there was no way he was giving up on Saketh. He hoped Spock would be able to fight whatever it was that was insidiously trying to get into his mind. Unlike last time, Spock at least knew to keep his guard up now. It was a good sign that he’d already detected this presence which had slipped past his senses when they’d last been on Saketh together.

The whole landing party hurried up the forested mountainside. Jim checked the map--it was a long way up. Briefly he considered changing their plan and heading west instead, to the broken ceiling of the chamber with the pit. But then how would they get down through that hole? Even if the _Enterprise_ beamed down the appropriate gear, they’d be vulnerable while they descended into the pit. No, this second entrance was their only chance and they had to get there before the pirates discovered it. 

He started running faster, up and up. Fallen trees, rocks, saplings—he jumped over or around them all. His lungs were burning when they finally hit a clearing. It was no coincidence the trees didn’t grow there, Jim knew. Under the ground beneath their feet was another one of those Vulcan-made structures which the roots couldn’t penetrate. They’d still not worked out what they were there for. Spock wasn’t an archeologist or a historian, and their expert on board in xenocultures, Dr. Langani, had many theories, in all of which Jim was sure the Vuclan experts on the _Excalibur_ would punch holes the size of small star systems.

He walked along the eerie clearing which long dead Vulcans had carved into the side of the mountain until he could go no further. Roughly ten meters in front of him a sheer cliff face blocked his path. A waterfall careered over it, leaving the mountainside’s rock glistening with moisture. Fog hung in the air all around him. It was somewhere here that Sulu’s team had found the second entrance. 

“Spock, help me out here.”

“Captain, I was not aware of the location of the second entrance until I studied the map.”

Jim nodded. “Yes, of course. Sorry.” 

Spock had been kept away from the mission as much as possible, so he’d not got to study Sulu’s report. He looked around but none of the security team had any idea either as to where the entrance was. 

“Kirk to _Enterprise_ , we need some help here.”

“Scotty here. Where’re ye now?”

“We’re where it should be.”

Sulu’s voice came over the communication channel. “Search for the waterfall and then walk through it.”

“Through it? Okay, thanks!”

The cold air coming out of the mountain would explain the fog. He eyed the waterfall. 

“After me,” he said and jumped through the curtain of water.

The freezing cold made it hard for him to suck in his next breath and he had to steady himself by leaning against the cavern’s wall. Spock was beside him in an instant, just as soaked as he was and also gasping for air, only in a more dignified way of course. His first officer looked at him and raised a questioning eyebrow. Jim nodded in reply: he was fine, he just needed a moment.

Behind them Jim could hear the rest of the team splashing through the water. When they were all through the waterfall one of the security men pulled out a torch and turned it on, illuminating the path in front of them. He passed it to Jim. 

The falling water hadn’t seemed so loud outside but with the echoes from the cavern’s walls adding to the din, it was deafeningly loud. 

“This path leads straight to the heart of the mountain,” Jim shouted. “We’ll be out of communications range very quickly, but at least we won’t have to go very far.”

He waved for the team to all draw closer so he could show them the map. It didn’t paint the whole picture, but he remembered the reports of this section of the underground city well. The Katric Ark might not be a tomb (Dr. Langani had said the Vulcans stored their ancestors’ souls there. It had been somewhere around that line that he’d decided there were other reports more deserving of his attention), but some of the corridors and chambers off the Ark’s main chamber were actual tombs. 

“There’s only this one route we can take, all other passages off this main one are dead ends. These are possibly Saketh’s equivalent of Rome’s catacombs, so don’t touch anything.” 

He paused to check Spock’s face for any reaction to that news. Had that been something Spock had been told? It was impossible to keep track of what information about the mission had been passed onto his first officer. Spock was concentrating on the map though, his face neutral. 

“That’s the plan unless we come across Kroth, their leader. If we do, we take him out. Right, let’s stick together, this place is a maze.” He locked eyes with Spock. “I don’t want anyone going off on their own.”

There’d been a few broken bones amongst the team that had first gone down these seemingly unending steps into the mountain. The passageway was narrow, the steps crumbly and slippery in places and the noise of the waterfall still loud behind them, but the deeper they went the drier the air and the stone beneath their feet. They must have been descending the steps for almost a quarter of an hour until they finally reached the end of them. 

Jim’s torch cast a stark light on the rows of alcoves lining the corridor they’d be walking through next. Each alcove was stacked full of skulls; the eye-less sockets seemed to be staring back at him as if they were alive, each one with a unique expression.

“Follow me,” he said in a hushed tone. 

Many chambers and passageways, all of them also lined with skulls, branched off the main corridor. Jim did trust Spock, he really did--it was this place he didn’t trust. Now that he knew Spock’s behavior had been caused by a telepathic force influencing him and wasn’t due to some kind of mental breakdown, he was even more wary of the city than he’d been before and kept a close eye on Spock therefore.

“We’re close to the Katric Ark,” Jim whispered. “There’s some kind of antechamber to the Ark a hundred meters ahead of us.” 

It was too dark for him to make out any details of the Vulcan’s face. He hoped he wasn’t going to run off towards the Katric Ark. 

When they turned a corner Jim could see light up ahead. “Torches off. Careful now.”

They inched along the dark corridor towards the dim light at the other end. 

Spock moved closer to him. “Captain, I can hear Kroth. He’s close.” 

“Are you sure? I can hear voices, but I can’t make out anything.”

“I am positive. Vulcans have good hearing.”

Jim turned around to his security team. “Alright. Kroth is through there. We may only have this one chance. If it doesn’t work, retreat.” 

They were pressed up against one another. He was hip to hip with Spock and so he felt it when the Vulcan tensed a fraction of a second before Kroth stepped into their line of sight. The Klingon was flanked on either side by four guards, but he wouldn’t be James T. Kirk if he wasted time thinking about such trivialities rather than seizing the opportunity to save the day. Jerking his phaser out of its holster, he threw himself out of the corridor’s entrance, took aim mid flight and shot. He missed, only managing to graze the Klingon’s shoulder. He thought he saw Kroth fall. The minute Jim hit the ground he rolled to his left instinctively. A shot of phaser fire burned the ground next to his ear.

Looking up he saw the man who’d shot at him; he was also the one holding the brightest torch that was illuminating the whole chamber. Spock shot him, plunging them all into darkness, when his torched clattered uselessly to the floor. Under cover of darkness he crawled forward; all around him the whoosh and zips and the fire fight he’d started sporadically lit up the chamber. He crawled forward, hoping this position on the floor wouldn’t be visible to many in the chaos. When he felt the wall in front of him he paused. Kroth had gone down not too far to his left near a column—he crawled to avoid the fighting. There was no one by the column, Kroth was gone; he must have got away in the confusion.

“Looking for someone, Jim?” 

He recognized the voice--it was Vig. A boot kicked him in the ribs. Jim rolled himself away from Vig and jumped to his feet to face his attacker, who caught him off guard with a powerful hook. 

“Urgh.” He tasted blood. 

In front of him the room was lit up in red as Vig was hit in the chest by a burst of energy. The alien fell to the floor, but Jim found the floor was coming up to greet him too. The moment his head hit the ground he lost consciousness.

***

Spock saw a man punch Jim; he was too late to prevent it, but he took aim and fired, hitting the alien square in the chest--it was Vig he realized. He scanned the room. Although the pirates were retreating into the main chamber, he knew that he had to call for a retreat now. They were too few to stand a chance if they went into the Katric Ark itself to search for Kroth and finish him off. And Spock did not want to fight there. Not there.

For a moment it was as if a shadow swept over his mind. He could almost feel its cold tendrils try to find a way into his mind, but they were foreign, he could feel that now. They were not his thoughts, he could keep them separate from his own. He had not felt them before on Saketh, but his attention had been elsewhere—and once inside his mind, he would have had no way to fight them or realize their presence. 

He stumbled across the room to where Jim lay motionless. 

“Captain.” No response. “Jim.” Again, nothing. 

There was no time to waste in being careful. He picked Jim up and slung him over his shoulder. 

“Retreat. Fall back!” he called out to the security team. 

They would be unable to use this entrance if they left now he knew, but there was no way they had enough people to keep the tunnel under their control for more than a few minutes once the pirates returned in greater numbers. 

They all hurried back the way they’d come. He turned a corner which caused Jim’s body to shift across his back. As it did, he felt Jim’s ribcage expand. He was still breathing, he was alive!

When they reached the surface Spock carried Jim through the waterfall and contacted the _Enterprise_ without delay.

“No other pirate ships have appeared. I reckon we can risk lowering shields to beam him up,” Mr Scott said. 

“Beam him directly to sickbay,” Spock replied.

He laid Jim down on the ground in front of him where he dematerialized promptly in a shower of light. 

Next he had to contact the _Excalibur_ and apprise them of the situation. He hailed Captain Patel. As he described the events to him, the sight of Jim being hit, falling to the ground without anything or anyone to break his fall, flashed across his vision. And although it had been too loud for him to actually hear the impact when Jim hit the floor, his mind nonetheless supplied a horrible cracking sound of bone against stone to accompany the memory. Spock concentrated on his speech, so his voice would not show any inflection. It was too late to suppress the emotions, all he could hope for now was to stay in control as they coursed through his veins. 

Not for the first and, he was sure, certainly not for the last time he cursed his human side. A Vulcan would have been able to suppress these emotions with ease, whereas for him every waking minute was a battle for control, a fight against himself that he might lose at any moment. He had always had a lot of trouble suppressing anger especially, and he was ablaze with his hatred for the pirates--rational thoughts that came into contact with the flames of his emotions burnt to nothing more than charred cinders within fractions of a second.

***

Pravit leant back in his captain’s chair. So Kirk had run in guns blazing and lost them access to the city via its second entrance. Why didn’t it surprise him to hear that?

Kirk had made him look like a fool in front of the Klingons with his crazy diplomatic stunt. In professional terms he was able to rise above such a slight, but personally he couldn't stand Kirk. But that stunt had gotten them the result they'd needed on that mission and Pravit had personally made sure the Admiralty had understood that. But this mission, Patel felt, needed a bit more … tact. The Vulcan delegation was onboard his ship. They had to go about this carefully or the Vulcans would deem Saketh an illogical place to found a colony--and then what? All for nothing! He couldn’t let that happen. He appreciated Kirk felt the same way and only wanted what was best for the Vulcans, but the man was too headstrong and reckless; looking for a hero’s death possibly, although Patel realized that particular thought was overly cynical. 

But he needed to take control of this mission. He massaged his temples. Those two, Kirk and Spock, were an inseparable team, loyal to each other to the core. He’d realized that during the last mission when they’d defended each other so vehemently. The Vulcan had even trusted Kirk’s word above that of a computer! For a Vulcan that was akin to heresy: blind faith, rather than logic. 

If he was going to take control of this mission, it didn’t matter that Kirk was now in sickbay, as long as Spock was still in charge of the _Enterprise_. He needed both of them out of the picture as Spock would doggedly pursue any plan Jim dictated to him from his sick-bed. 

He’d have to mull that problem over later, though, as Lieutenant Farringham strode onto the bridge through the open turbo lift doors.

"Sir, the prisoner’s on board and secured in the brig if you wish to question him now," his chief of security informed him.

He was not a cruel man, or at least he hoped he wasn't. What would it take to get the guy to talk? Was he one of the inner circle or not? Would false promises of gold pressed latinum sway him easily? There was so much he had to think about as he made his way from the bridge to the holding cell.

As it turned out, much to Pravit’s eternal relief, promises of riches were all that was required to get the pirate to start talking, although to keep him talking some threats were required--which his chief of security delivered expertly.

Farringham held his phaser pointed at the pirate’s chest. "If you don’t talk, you know what I’ll do?”

“What? Stun me? I can see what setting that phaser’s on and I know you won’t kill me.”

“No, we won’t,” Farringham agreed. “We’ll just send you back down to the planet with a recording of all that you’ve already told us. Let your friends welcome you back.”

Pravit and Farringham let the words sink in. The pirate eyed the phaser.

"Fine. But you won't like what I've got to tell you about your Vulcan half-breed pet."

"Oh really," Patel said dryly.

"It's only thanks to him we were able to find out about the tunnels on Saketh and the vast treasures there."

"What treasures?"

"He hasn't told you?"

The conversation just went downhill from there really. Something about Spock sharing his mind through telepathy with a prostitute (were Vulcans telepathic? He was sure he'd have heard that if it was true. Then again, they were a very private people. Still. Probably not telepathic) and Spock giving her all his savings so she would marry him … yeah, sure, of course, that was how Vulcans acted—silly him for thinking they were logical. What the pirate was saying was ludicrous, why was he evening listening to this bullshit?

When the ‘interview’ as over he asked Farringham to save the recording on file. On his way back to the bridge he shook his head--how creative this pirate was!

To be continued...


	28. chapter 28

Jim opened his eyes blearily.

"Hey Bones," he said.

"Yeah hi to you too, kid. I really don't know why I bother putting you back together every time--but you just keep being brought in on a stretcher looking so god damn pathetic and broken."

"My jaw feels stiff."

"Yeah, no kidding. That's what having your jaw bone shattered will do to you."

"What's the situation down on Saketh?"

"Right now? How the hell should I know! I've been too busy patching you up. No, don't get up. Uhura's on her way, wanted to talk to you as soon as you came ‘round. But no getting out of bed and running off, you hear me? You had a bad skull fracture."

“How long was I out for?”

“Not long, half an hour at most.”

In an emergency like they were facing down on Saketh, half an hour was almost an eternity. 

Uhura strode in through the sickbay doors with a PADD tucked neatly under her arm, which she handed to him the second she reached his bedside. 

Jim rubbed at his eyes. “The words are blurry.”

“Really? I think I’ve got something for that. Hang on a minute.” Bones rummaged in one of the refrigerated drawers. “Ah, here it is.”

Without further warning a cold hypo was pressed against his neck and some drugs injected into his system. 

“Now I’ve got a sickbay to run. If you need me, I’ll be in my office.”

He watched Bones leave, then held the PADD up in front of his face again. The messages on the screen slowly came into focus; he scanned the first few paragraphs.

"Patel has done what?" he shouted, jabbing his index finger at the PADD.

Uhura raised her chin slightly and clasped her hands behind her back. 

"He's accused Spock of collusion with the enemy. With these orders from headquarters,” she stepped closer and pointed at a line on the PADD, “Spock’s command codes have been frozen. Sir, we both know that this is all … politics. So Spock slept with a prostitute?” 

Jim watched as she clenched her jaw and focused on his status monitor, rather than looking him in the eye. 

“Contrary to what Captain Patel is claiming,” she continued, “he didn’t hide that fact, you were aware of it and you’ve submitted a report to the admirals. It’s already been dealt with. And we both know he’d never tell anyone information about the mission. A quick call to headquarters is all it should take to clear up this ‘misunderstanding’."

She spat out the last word. 

Jim closed his eyes and dropped his hands, PADD inclusive, into his lap. He’d only skimmed the rest of the page--until Uhura had voiced it out loud he hadn’t been sure exactly what Patel had been accusing Spock of, but now he knew: passing on information about Saketh to the prostitute. Well, he was pretty sure he hadn’t interrupted the two of them having a nice ‘chat’. But, when Vulcans married, they married telepathically, they shared minds. He felt sick to the stomach at the thought.

“Captain?”

She’d moved to stand closer to him and dropped down so that their eyes were now on one level. Uhura's gaze softened.

"You didn't report it," she whispered.

"No."

"I heard that you flipped out at him. Chekov told me everything."

Jim sighed. "There was a … reason.”

Uhura was nodding, her large browns eyes radiating understanding. 

“Spock,” she said, “wouldn’t act like that normally. The minute I heard what had happened I knew there must’ve been some reason behind it all and Chekov agreed. I’m glad you didn’t report it.”

He put his head in his hands. "But this mess would be easier to sort out if I had."

“It will take longer to sort out, but it will be okay in the end. Won’t it?”

Jim wasn’t sure. Spock had clearly never intended for this to happen, but if the Vulcan had only been less secretive, that whole episode might’ve been avoided in the first place. 

“We need Patel to retract his accusations,” he replied. 

“Do you think you can persuade him?” She narrowed her eyes. “I got the impression this had little to do with Spock and more to do with him wanting the _Excalibur_ to take control of the situation down on Saketh.”

Jim’s head shot up. 

“What’s been happening?”

“The pirates are holding the city. Patel has withdrawn most of the security teams from the planet, only leaving behind a few scouts near the two entrances. So far the pirates have stayed in the mountain.”

“He withdrew the security teams? What the … ? Are we sure he isn’t colluding with the enemy?”

Uhura coughed politely. “Who’re you appointing to replace Spock for the time being?”

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Inform Lieutenant-Commander Scott I’m promoting him to first officer until this mess is cleared up.”

“Yes sir,” she replied. 

“Right, and now I’ve got to visit Patel and find out what the hell he thinks he’s doing.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Uhura glance towards the doctor’s office. 

He grinned. “If you’d distract him for me?” 

“Kirk, I swear-.”

“I need Spock back--right now. Patel has got to drop those claims. He obviously thinks I’m too seriously wounded to command this mission-.”

“You are.”

“All the more reason to get Spock back. Look, we don’t have any time to lose!”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll keep him busy.”

He smiled and it hurt his jaw. Bones was the only one with the authority to keep him from beaming over to confront Patel. 

“Thanks,” he said as he jumped off the bed. 

Immediately he had to steady himself on one of the stainless steel trolleys. Uhura raised her eyebrows. 

“I’ll be fine. Go.” He waved her away.

***

Jim arrived on the bridge of the _Excalibur_ out of breath; he had to lean heavily against the wall next to the turbo lift. Not the impression he’d wanted to create, but he’d had to hurry, so Bones wouldn’t be able to catch up with him.

“We need to talk about the mission,” he said.

Patel got up out of his chair. “Shouldn’t you be in sickbay?”

The older captain crossed his arms in front of his chest and took stock of the younger one’s physical state. Jim knew he still had some dried blood in his hair and his jaw was probably an angry red or a deep purple. But at least what he was wearing was clean, he thought mirthlessly.

“Nope. I’m here, so obviously the doctor released me.”

“I’m sure he did. Do you always walk around barefoot on your ship in a thin medical gown?”

Jim smiled. “I was in a hurry.”

They stared at each other from across the bridge. Someone coughed nervously. 

“If you would follow me to the conference room,” Patel said.

***

The second the door closed behind them, giving them privacy from the crew, Jim sat down heavily in a chair at the long conference table.

“What the fuck were you thinking filing that accusation against Spock? Without even consulting me!”

“I don’t need your permission to do my duty,” Patel said. 

“Your duty? Oh please, we both know that this has nothing to do with Commander Spock. Don’t drag him into this.”

They stared at each other.

Patel smiled weakly. “I’m sure that the commander will quickly be found innocent after a preliminary inquest. What I think on the matter is not important though, it’s not my place to make that judgment. In submitting the evidence I am simply following protocol--to the letter.”

Jim studied his face. Yes, Patel wasn’t lying--he believed Spock was innocent and if he judged that fake smile correctly the man even felt a twinge of guilt over the matter. But that wouldn’t help his first officer when it came to the inquest; it would be a long, lengthy one, as the Vulcan wouldn’t lie to save his ass. Patel couldn’t have known, of course, but Jim balled his hands into fists. He didn’t appreciate Patel trying to take control away from the _Enterprise_. He needed Spock on active duty, he was already feeling nauseous and a headache was just around the corner the minute the hypo Bones had given him wore off.

“Look, there’s no need for this. It’s not going to work anyway. I’m here, not stuck in sickbay, so retract your allegations against my first officer. We’re going to plan our course of action against the pirates together, not you on your own.”

He knew the minute he’d said it that he shouldn’t have--Patel was already livid and playing by-the-book-dirty and that statement he’d just made was not going to improve matters. After all, he’d been the one who’d made the decision on the Heuygen’s system, which should’ve been a joint one.

Across the table Patel was seething quietly. 

“What we are going to do down on Saketh,” Patel said, “is to wait ‘til the pirates have to come out and negotiate for lack of food and water. Anything else is too risky. 

“What if they damage the city? Have you been down there? It might be creepy as anything walking through those ruins, especially past those rows of skulls, but that’s some of the only history the Vulcans have left. If we get down there and those pirates have smashed up everything … .”

Jim didn’t think he needed to finish that sentence. He could see Patel chewing on the inside of his cheeks. Then the older man’s face hardened. 

“There’s a whole planet full of ruins down there; this is just one city. It’s not worth the risk.”

Before Jim could protest Patel had reached for a PADD, which he activated and then handed over to him. Jim skimmed the information on it: Patel had already run his suggested plan of action by the admirals, who’d essentially agreed to it. 

Jim felt his face flush red. It was time to leave.

***

“Ensign,” Jim said, “beam me back over to the _Enterprise_.”

“Yes sir.”

“ _Enterprise_ to Kirk.”

Jim stopped short of getting up onto one of the transporter pads. He took out his communicator and opened the channel. 

“Kirk here. What’s up Mr. Scott?”

“It’s Commander Spock, sir. A security team had escorted him to his quarters, but he broke out and just beamed himself down to the planet’s surface. Doctor McCoy thinks the pressure of this mission has pushed him over the edge, like last time he was on Saketh. I’m preparing to send down a security team to retrieve him.”

“No, I’ll go down myself.”

“Aye, you’re the Cap’n.”

“Send his beam down co-ordinates over to the _Excalibur’s_ transporter room. Kirk out.”

Jim turned to the ensign at the controls. “Hand me your phaser.” He looked down at bare feet. “And your boots.”

***

Spock was a fast runner and Jim was in no fit state to chase him through the woods.

“Spock, stop or I’ll shoot,” he shouted. 

The Vulcan would easily be able to judge that he was far away, but maybe the threat would halt him. It did. 

Jim stopped running and walked towards him slowly. His eyes went straight to Spock’s belt and the phaser holstered there. 

“Put your hands up where I can see them.”

When he got to his renegade first officer he took his phaser off him. 

“Jim, do you trust me?”

He didn’t know what to say. This question couldn’t have come at a worse time; on the one hand it broke his heart that Spock even felt the need to ask such a question, but on the other hand … Spock clearly didn’t give a damn about him or he’d have told him that he’d married that woman.

“There is no time to waste,” Spock said, “I must go to the Katric Ark.”

“What? Spock! Wake up! Get a hold of yourself, this isn’t you--you’re being influenced by something that’s gotten into your mind.”

Last time had been bad enough with the storm water, now a horde of angry pirates occupied the place. 

Spock let his arms fall back down to his side. “No, my mind is still my own. I must go there to stop the pirates. They are damaging the Katric Ark. Jim, I would not put my life in danger needlessly, but this is something I must do. If you run with me to edge of the wood, I will do my best to explain on the way.”

Jim nodded and before he’d even lowered the phaser Spock had grabbed his upper arm, forcing Jim to run along with him.

“So,” Jim panted, “convince me you’re acting rationally.”

“After you were beamed up to the ship I stayed behind on Saketh. I wanted to understand the telepathic force that was trying to get into my mind. So let it in.”

They jumped over a log. Jim stumbled when they landed on the other side, but Spock steadied him with ease and continued his explanation. 

“Ancient Katras, Vulcan souls.” Spock’s voice was clear and strong. “The material the Katric Ark was crafted out cannot have originated from his planet. It must have come from Vulcan. I believe the whole chamber is lined with the same polycrystalline mix of rocks and metals that made up the surface of Vulcan. The magnetization of this material is easily affected by our telepathy. And in turn the patterns Vulcans leave there can affect us.”

“We tried to scan the chamber, we couldn’t pick up anything in there. How do you know this? Did these ‘souls’ tell you?”

“They didn’t talk to me, Captain, and I can’t talk to them. I am too far away for that. But I could feel it in the pattern of the electric field emanating from the mountain.”

A low lying branch hit Jim in the face, scratching his cheek, as Spock rushed along relentlessly. The edge of the wood was already in sight. 

“And now you somehow sense that the pirates are doing something to the Ark?”

“The Katras are not disturbed, so I do not believe any stones harboring them have been destroyed by the pirates. But … something is changing.”

He trusted Spock’s telepathic abilities--his older counterpart was certainly skilled. If his first officer said there was a change in the pattern then who was he to question that?

“So what could they be doing?”

“I cannot say for sure, but … Jim, there is something here that feels like home.”

They reached the edge of the woods. Between them and the main entrance to the mountain was large grassy field. 

Spock stopped. “I think there must be some stones in the Ark, brought here by the ancient clans of Vulcan, that were patterned through extreme telepathic forces to act as beacons for each clan. They are home.”

Jim reached out and took Spock’s hand in his and squeezed it. “And there’s a time when most Vulcan males must return home.”

“Yes. The pirates must not be allowed to destroy those stones, and I believe they may have already damaged some of them. Do you understand now why I must go without delay?”

“I do. But you’re not going on your own. I’m coming with you.”

They ran out of the woods. Behind them Jim heard the cries of Captain Patel’s sentries who must have been posted in the woods somewhere. He ignored them; he had no intention of obeying them and turning back however dizzy he might feel.

“You do have a plan, don’t you?” Jim asked.

The entrance into the mountain was close. Spock stopped just before they reached it.

“I thought I would let myself be taken prisoner. They seem to have set up their main headquarters in the Katric Ark. Once there I can try to communicate with the ancient, pre-reform Katras. Ancient Vulcans tried to achieve immortality through committing their whole being to the Ark. Those Katras are more ‘alive’ than those of the Surakian era and I might be able to persuade them to aid me in driving out the pirates.”

Jim looked around. If they stayed standing in this open field much longer they’d soon be discovered by the pirates. And as he realized that that was exactly what they were waiting for he felt his adrenaline levels starting to rise. 

“Alright,” Jim replied, “If you can get the pirates to panic for even a few minutes, then that might present the best chance for me to take down Kroth.”

He agreed with Spock, they had to act now to prevent further damage to the beacon stones even though it was clear to him that this was a desperate attempt. But if they failed, Patel would still be able to end the occupation of the Ark his way.

“How will contacting these ancient Vulcans affect you?”

“I do not know. I am aware that I may risk mental scarring, especially without the correct preparation.”

Then, unexpectedly, Spock leant in and kissed him gently on the lips. It was a tender kiss, not fueled by physical lust. 

“Spock?” he asked softly and stepped closer to him, so that their bodies were touching. 

Behind him, from the entrance, Jim could hear shouting. He didn’t move and didn’t turn towards the commotion. He reached out and took Spock’s hand in his even as the pirates reached them and hit Jim between his shoulder blades with the butt of a plasma rifle.

To be continued...


	29. Chapter 29

**– Home--Part 29**

The back of Jim's eyeballs felt like they were bruised and his skull was pounding along in time with his heartbeat. The wall against which his limp body had been resting was cold and rough to the touch--he knew that because his hands were bound tightly behind his back and were raw where they'd scraped against the stone. A short-lived struggle to bring himself into a slightly less uncomfortable sitting position taught him that his feet were also restrained.

"Awake? Good," someone said.

People were laughing. Jim opened his left eye a fraction; his right one hurt too much. The light was dim and at first he couldn't recognize any of the people in the room as his vision was blurry. Then one of the figures kneeled down next to him and moved right into his personal space.

The man was so close that Jim could now make out his features. They were unmistakable—it was that red shirted pirate. He was wearing black now, but his eyes had the same glint in them as when they'd last met.

Jim turned his face away from him and craned his neck to look past him--who else was in the room, and most importantly, where was Spock?

"The 'pointy eared bastard' isn't here, Jim. Should've know he was Vulcan the minute you called him that. No Romulan would've stood for it, but Vulcans just turn the other cheek, don't they? And to think I let him intimidate me."

Ignoring the pirate Jim continued to look around. The man was right, Spock wasn't with them, though three other pirates were. It gave him some hope that they thought it necessary to post four guards; Spock had to be nearby. Assigning even one person to guard him in his current condition was one person too many. 

He studied the room. They were in a small chamber with illustrated walls--not the Katric Ark, where they needed to be. 

"Interesting murals, aren't they?" He could hear the grin in the man's voice.

When Jim focused on the walls, he saw that it was the chamber with the ancient frescoes.

A warm hand touched his cheek. Jim cringed away from the touch, but the man grabbed hold of his jaw firmly and brought his lips to Jim's. The pain in his still tender jaw-bone eclipsed every other sensation and was all he could think of.

"You're a pretty one."

Jim was left gasping for air, tears stinging his eyes.

The hand moved from his jaw, down his neck, to his thin medical gown, which put up a fight that it ultimately lost, the material ripping at the seams and coming undone from the collar to his shoulder joint. Jim shivered; not only because of the cold air that more of his skin was now exposed to, but also because the pirate's intentions were unmistakable.

The man yanked him away from the wall and then threw him face down onto the floor, pressing his jaw to it until Jim let out a pained howl.

"Don’t struggle."

Jim closed his eyes tightly and wished he could do the same for his ears as the sound of a belt being unbuckled reached him.

“Isamb, stop it!” one of the other three pirates said. 

“Too much for you to stomach? Go step out of the room then. Anyone else can join in if they want to. But he’s mine first. I still have a debt to settle with Jim and his pet Vulcan after what they did to me.”

“He’s not your sex toy, you perverted fuck,” a deep voice said. 

That was good. So now he had at least two pirates who were on his side. He didn’t have a clue how Spock had actually gotten rid of the guy after they’d left the table together, but unless it involved the pirate suffering excruciating pain, he found he didn’t care.

A hand stroked his left thigh. “He’s a Starfleet Captain, use your brain, Manni. Kroth is going to torture him for information and I’m just softening him up.”

“Knock it off, Isamb. Like you said, he’s a Starfleet captain, not a usual prisoner. So he’s not ours, he’s Kroth’s. Even if this prisoner was ours to deal with, you still can’t decide on your own what to do with him. You think you’re special, that you somehow deserve more of a say in things than everyone else—and you think you can get away with that, but you can’t.”

A quiet click followed by the whirring sound of a plasma rifle being turned up to maximum power sounded through the cold air of the chamber. Jim had realized during his short visit that Kroth had organized the pirates, that they were more than just a lumping together of thugs—they followed one leader loyally. And right now, he was thankful for that. Jim opened his eyes again, but he wasn’t able to make out what was going on.

“So what are you going to do? Report me to Kroth for messing with his prisoner? Shoot me?”

“I have a mind to do so.”

“What? Not a single one of you has some backbone? You’re all so scared of Kroth and his cronies-.”

“We _are_ his cronies and have been for some time. And if you can’t deal with that and want the old days back when it was just you, me, and Fist, then you’re out of luck—there’s no return to them there days.”

There was silence for a while and Jim wished he could make out what was happening. Then he heard a snort, a rustling of fabric and then the sound of a belt being done up again. The relief he felt was short-lived, though, as his mind churned through what he’d learnt—that he was going to be handed over to Kroth for questioning. 

He was under no illusions that he’d be able to stay completely silent under torture. The last official command track Academy lecture he’d sat through had been delivered to him by Pike himself from his hospital bed. ‘If they have you and you can’t tell them what you know under any circumstances,’ Pike had said in a hoarse voice, ‘then it’s your duty as a Starfleet captain to look for ways to end your life before they can get the information out of you’. He doubted Kroth had the kind of expertise needed to break him, though he couldn’t rule out that the Klingon commanded men who were well trained in torture techniques. 

An icy dread crawled over his skin. Was Spock being questioned right now? Was he alright? 

Footsteps echoed through an adjoining corridor, growing ever louder until a group of people entered the room. He looked up and through the blurriness he was able to make out Spock. It had to be Spock. Severe dark hair and … green. Jim closed his eyes, but the color wouldn’t go away. Bright green filled his vision. He opened his eyes again, but still. Green. That was all he could see. The blood was everywhere, staining Spock’s clothes, face and hands. Jim felt the bile rise in the back of his throat. 

Manni and the other pirate who’d kept him from being raped walked over to him and manhandled him back into a sitting position against the wall. Spock was dumped unceremoniously next to him, his eyes closed and head slumped to one side.

“What did you bastards do to him?” Jim spat.

Isamb came forward, kicked Spock in the side, inches below where the Vulcan’s heart was, and when that got no response he slapped him across the face. 

“I guess they used the mind-sifter at a high setting. Probably nothing more than mush left inside that Vulcan skull.”

Jim clenched his jaw. Liar! Spock would be fine. There was no Klingon mind-sifter. Kroth didn’t have one or Vig would’ve used it on them when Quol had told him they were Starfleet spies. 

Green, green, green, everywhere he looked. What had they wanted to know from Spock anyway? Surely they already knew everything from the prostitute? He took a couple of shaky breaths. Mind melds probably didn’t leave you with a complete set of the other person’s memories and experiences, that would be ludicrous, wouldn’t it? So she might not have known much, just enough to lead them here. 

But what did Kroth think he could achieve? Jim tried to block out the voices of the pirates as they talked amongst themselves so that he could focus on that one thought. Clearly Kroth didn’t like the idea of an increased Federation presence so close to his sector of space—but how did he intend to stop the re-colonization of Saketh? He must’ve come here with a plan. Spock had known the Katric Ark was important, of course, and what its purpose was. But he hadn’t grasped its full significance, as he hadn’t known about the clan stones, had he? 

Isamb kicked Jim hard in the groin. “Well, I guess you’ll soon know what they did to your Vulcan, as it’s your turn now.” 

The kick wasn’t well aimed, so although it hurt like hell, he knew from experience the pain wouldn’t last more than a few minutes. As he was picked up and dragged out of the chamber, he tried to look back--Spock. His heart ached at being parted from him again, but he was in no fit state to fight his guards. Damnit, this plan wasn’t going well. How much did Kroth know? Were they purposefully being kept out of the Katric Ark? Or had Spock been taken there, but failed to rally the ancient spirits in defense?

***

“Take off them there restraints and leave us both alone,” Kroth said from behind a stone table.

They were in a small room which was located a few meters off the corridor that led to the Katric Ark. The guards followed Kroth’s orders, but when they let go of his upper arms Jim swayed on his feet. To stay upright he widened his stance—but it was no use. He was too cold and too weak; within seconds he’d collapsed onto his knees.

“Wait,” Kroth said, before his guards could leave. “Fetch Doctor Barau and some decent clothes for him to wear.”

Jim heard their footsteps retreating and once their sound died down, he was left in silence, only his own heartbeat and breathing audible. Was Kroth still in the room? He looked up. A tall figure loomed in the darkness behind the stone table. Jim was weak, but he knew if necessary he had some reserves he could tap into—he always had some additional energy somewhere. The question was if it would be worth getting up now. He could run, or he could attack Kroth. If the Klingon had a weapon, which he most likely did, he’d be dead in an instant. Maybe that would be for the best though.

The guards returned with hurried footsteps and dumped a pile of clothes on the floor in front of his knees. 

Another man knelt down next to him. “I’m Doctor Barau, I’m going to treat you.”

Jim struggled with the garments, but eventually he got them on over the top of his own, far too thin, clothes. They reeked of a cocktail of drugs, though Meekon was the dominant smell. But they were warm, and his body appreciated that. The minute he’d finished wrapping himself up in them, the two guards each took hold of one of his arms, holding onto them with a bruising force. 

“Just a few hypo-sprays. Try not to move,” Barau said.

Jim didn’t like those on the best of days, but he knew that no amount of struggling would change that he would receive those hypos, and he couldn’t afford to waste any energy now, not when he might still need it later. The cold hypos were pressed to his neck with a sharp hiss one after another.

“What drugs’re you giving me?” he asked.

Was it truth serum? A sedative?

“Something to keep you going. You’re on the verge of collapse,” Doctor Barau replied. 

Kroth strode around the table. “It’s quite hard to question people when they’re unconscious. Learnt that lesson with the Vulcan, so we’re not going to repeat that mistake with you.” He turned to his men. “Thank you. You can go.”

When they left he pulled a plasma weapon from its holster on his belt and aimed it at Jim’s chest.

“See, our doctors are professional. I don’t just have the dregs here—I’m trying to build up a new society.”

Jim grunted. “One that’s based on piracy?”

His vision was slowly coming into focus and he felt his strength returning; the drugs were working, but he still didn’t trust Kroth. 

“I don’t call it stealing, I call it collecting tribute.”

“I heard you destroyed a Romulan ship. That was just collecting tribute, was it?”

“They were far too proud to pay us anything, and that’s their choice, a regrettable one for sure. But we will take from everyone who passes through our space and destroy those who stand in our way. Humble beginnings maybe, but all great empires start off small—and with aggressive leaders.”

“The Federation didn’t.”

Kroth ignored him. “What about history’s great personalities? Monsters or conquers they might be, but still, they are remembered for the greatness of the empires they created. Doesn’t everyone on Earth learn about Alexander the Great? He’s never called Alexander the Gruesome, even now. You humans are delusional if you think that as a culture you don’t still admire these people.”

Jim was glad for the hypos Barau had given him, even if their function was only to keep him conscious for the questioning; his mind was sharper, his thoughts coming together more easily. Now was his chance to derail Kroth’s monologue. 

“If Alexander were here, even he would advise anyone with your size fleet against taking on the Federation. I know you’re not stupid, so why are you here? What do you really want?”

“What do I want?” Kroth hit Jim across the face sharply. “You just said I wasn’t stupid and yet now you’re trying to take me for a fool, you know what I’m here for.”

“The Federation will never let you take this planet.”

“Well, I’m scared of the response so far, I’m nearly shitting myself. A Vulcan and a half-dead human? Very threatening. Hmmm, can you tell me what the captain of Starfleet’s flagship is doing letting himself be captured while too ill to function without medication?”

Jim didn’t answer. 

“I reckon whatever it is you were attempting you didn’t have your superiors’ approval or you wouldn’t have come down in this state, at the very least you’d be wearing a uniform. I know what you want. You want the same thing I do. Admit it!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Kroth.”

“We’ll see about that.”

The Klingon walked over to the exit, mindful to keep his weapon pointing at Jim, and called for his guards to bring the mind-sifter.

To be continued...


	30. Chapter 30

The pirates had been forced to haul Jim up out of the questioning chair and drag him halfway across the room before Jim had been able to cooperate and use his own legs. The bone deep helplessness he'd felt had paralyzed him. Thanks to Dr. Barau he was strong enough—physically at least--to walk through the corridor towards the chamber of frescos unaided, but his whole body was still shaking.

In the light of the guards' torches he could see an opportunity up ahead; a narrow passageway to his right. Ten steps, five, two, now! He threw his weight sideways and for a moment he was free of the guards, but strong hands grasped his upper left arm and he was pulled back into the main corridor.

"I wouldn't try that again," the pirate who'd held him back said.

There were no further possibilities to escape on their march back to the fresco-lined room. They'd soon be there. His stomach turned uneasily; he just couldn't get the sight of Spock covered in blood out of his mind.

"Welcome back, Jim. I hope you enjoyed the mind-sifter," Isamb said with a nasty grin, before they'd even stepped over the threshold.

Instinctively Jim struggled against his restraints; if he'd been able to he would've punched Isamb in the teeth as hard as he could. But since he couldn't, he spat at Isamb's finely scarred face instead. There wasn't a torture technique that came to Jim's mind that he wouldn't rather have endured than the mind-sifter. He saw the light of the torches reflected as a glint in Isamb's narrowed eyes--yes, he thought, he'd even rather have suffered that.

"So that's a 'yes' then, right?" the pirate replied, using his sleeve to wipe himself clean.

If only he'd taken the possibility of Kroth owning a mind-sifter seriously, Jim thought, he could've looked for a way to prevent them from using it. As it was, he'd made a run for it the minute the guards had brought the Klingon machine into the room. Kroth had shot him, but the weapon must have been set to 'stun', because he'd awoken again to Dr Barau standing over him--his captors had already hooked him up to the mind-sifter.

He understood now why the pirates didn't routinely use it to test their recruits' background stories. If they did that, they'd have to look on as those men and women jumped onto the nearest ship and sped away at warp 7 without even stopping to check whether the ship’s hatch was closed or not.

Isamb stepped to one side; behind him he saw that Spock was still in the same place as before. But now his first officer was awake, his bangs sticky with drying blood, his dark eyes below them fixed on Jim. Whatever the pirates had done to Spock, he'd weathered it. Jim broke their eye contact.

Spock had suffered to keep what he knew of the Ark secret from Kroth; the cuts, the blood ... all evidence that he'd offered up resistance. Jim had done nothing, though, as the pirates tore the information right out of his mind, thought by thought. The device had been far more powerful than he'd ever imagined a mind-sifter could be. More than a lie detector, though less than a direct line to his thoughts. He wondered if Kroth had gotten one of the Vulcanoids to modify it.

He was thrown to the floor, right next to Spock.

"Captain, are you alright?"

How typical of Spock to only worry about him, his Captain, he thought, when the Vulcan’s own wounds were far worse than his; the blue uniform was completely green.

"Jim, answer me.”

There was an urgency in the whispered words that was made more touching through the strangeness of hearing it disrupt the even tone of the Vulcan Standard speech pattern. Of course Spock couldn't know he was fine, Jim realized--he'd not said a word since entering the chamber.

He continued to avoid the dark eyes. "I'm okay."

Spock shuffled closer, an action that must have been excruciatingly painful, so that he was almost resting his head on Jim's shoulder.

His voice was little more than a rough breath. "Kroth was irate that the Vulcan Katras were not communicating with him. I do not believe he fully understands the functioning of the Katric Ark."

"He didn't," Jim replied in an equally hushed tone. He took a shaky breath. "But I answered every question he put to me. Every single fucking one."

"It was not your fault."

"I told him what he needed. I told him he needed a Vulcan telepath, Spock. I told him that if he want to talk to them somehow, that he needs to use you."

***

Jim groaned; all he could taste was blood. When Kroth had ordered Isamb to beat up both him and Spock, the pirate had not needed telling twice. Although Kroth hadn’t stayed to observe, they’d been under the watchful scrutiny of Kroth’s guards the whole time. Those same guards were now dragging them gruffly through the corridors. Finally the one holding Jim let go and he fell unceremoniously onto the floor, face first. He tasted dust and sand. When he opened his swollen left eye a crack he recognized the place immediately: they were in the Katric Ark.

Jim's heart started beating faster because they’d finally made it to their destination, this whole ordeal hadn’t been for nothing. At the same time, though, it sank when he took in the scene. All around him the pirates had tipped over statues and hauled stone relics into the centre of the chamber, only to smash them to pieces. He hoped they hadn’t destroyed too many of the tribal stones--that they weren’t too late.

A booted foot moved to block out the view; it was only inches from his face. He tried to look up, but his neck wouldn't twist that far.

"Lift him up."

As pirates jumped to the command immediately, Jim was pulled up onto his knees in an instant.

“Kroth,” Jim spat out. “Why?”

He looked over to Spock. Green blood dripped onto the floor of the Katric Ark. He didn’t know if Spock was mentally still with them or already putting their plan into action and talking to the Vulcan spirits. Kroth laughed mirthlessly and knelt down so that he was closer to Jim.

The Klingon lowered his voice, so it was barely above a whisper in the loud room. “As you know, I’m aware that there’s no gold, no latinum, no dilithium to be found here. I’m no fool. I know what this place is. That it holds the secret to immortality.”

Jim frowned and looked at Kroth sideways. Immortality? That’s what he was after?

Kroth smiled a toothy grin. “Now I already knew about mind melds, but I had no idea that telepathy might hold the secret to unlocking the value of this chamber. I’d sure like to see if I can’t win the Vulcan’s co-operation after all--so that he can help me towards my goal.”

Kroth stood up again in one fluid movement. “So as you can see, my dear Jim, you’re not really of any use to us anymore. Although, maybe you can help me to persuade the Vulcan here to do my bidding?"

Isamb dragged in a girl on her knees and dumped her in front of Kroth's feet. She looked even more beaten up than Spock. Her fingers were at odd angles, as if they’d all been broken. 

“T’Gallachea!”

Jim snapped his head around to look at Spock who’d just shouted out to the woman. He studied her. Was it possible she was the same one that he’d seen on the pirate base? Her battered face was unrecognizable to him, but she was Vulcanoid. He’d thought she was unconscious, but she lifted her face and fixed her eyes on Spock. Jim wasn’t sure what she said, it sounded Vulcan, but she said it in such a pleading tone, that Jim winced in sympathy for her. When she repeated it, over and over again, he realized that it sounded a lot like a name he’d seen before in the ship’s records—Spock’s full name. He'd never even tried to pronounce it himself, sure that he’d mangle it with his human tongue. Now he regretted that. He swallowed past the knot in his throat.

“Spock,” he whispered and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again the Vulcan’s attention was still on his wife, rather than on the spirits as it should have been; he should be focusing on talking to them, to rally their help so they could drive out the pirates. A cold band coiled tightly around his stomach. Had Spock already tried and been rejected? If so, there would be no future for a large portion of the Vulcan survivors—for those who needed the stones Kroth was destroying. 

It was so senseless that the Klingon was shattering the chances of so many Vulcans simply to get the Katras’ attention, whiled the pirates were smashing the stones in their search for some non-existent treasure they’d been promised by Kroth. Damnit, he hated Klingons! Hated their guts. Kroth couldn't be allowed to get away. It would be disastrous for Saketh to have such a ruthless enemy lying in waiting, ready to strike out brutally against the colony at any time. Jim's mind ran through all the possible scenarios.

Kroth grabbed Spock's wife by her hair, twisting her head so she was facing Jim.

"Is he the one?" The pirate leader asked. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" she screamed in pain.

Kroth let go of her; she collapsed back onto the floor.

He turned to address Jim. "I think maybe you should tell your friend not to engage in so much pillow talk next time." He laughed. "So you and the Vulcan are lovers? How very un-Vulcan of him to give a fuck about anyone or anything but his precious logic. He didn’t talk earlier when we broke his wife. I’ll have to do a little experiment to find out whether he cares about you or not. Men!"

The guards picked Jim up, getting him off his knees and onto his feet. They held him securely by his arms and stood on his feet in such as way that he couldn't move at all. Another pirate walked up to Kroth and handed him a dagger--or maybe it was a simple knife, Jim wasn't sure. It didn't really matter.

Then Kroth stepped up to him and stabbed him with the blade. It pierced the flesh of his right shoulder. He choked out a muffled cry. Warm blood from the wound soaked into the clothes Kroth had given him.

"Do you see this, Vulcan?”

Kroth drew the blade straight down from Jim’s shoulder to his chest, slicing open his shirt, his skin, and cutting into the underlying muscle. Jim bit his teeth together, but the wound was deep and the pain so excruciating he thought he might pass out. Every breath he took seemed to widen the cut.

"Talk, Vulcan! Or all that will be left of your lover will be strips of bloody meat. Or is that all he is to you? A piece of meat? The secrets of this chamber! Will you agree to share ...?”

Jim couldn't make out any more as his hearing failed him, while grey sparks peppered his vision. It seemed his other senses were in overdrive though, but only to focus on his own body and the blade that was buried in his flesh. 

Kroth continued his work and over the course of a small eternity he drew the blade all the way down, cutting Jim’s abdomen, thigh, and legs until finally he drew it away. Jim was starting to feel light headed. Maybe it was the pain, maybe the blood loss.

Kroth next used the blade to cut Jim’s clothes off him. Scratching him as he worked, he left long red ribbons behind, but the Klingon worked fast and the cuts were neither as deep nor as painful as the first one. Jim closed his eyes. The cold of the underground city took his breath away as Korth finally stripped him of the last piece of clothing.

A blood curdling scream cut through the haze clouding Jim’s perceptions. He opened his eyes to see what was going on. He could still hardly hear, but at least he could make out some sounds again. Spock was writhing on the floor, clutching so tightly at his head with his hands that Jim could see the tendons stretched tight over the knuckle bones of the pale skinned hands. Clearly he was in agony--Jim remembered what he had said about the ancient, pre-reform Katras, that they might cause him some mental scarring … Jim couldn’t bear to think about it further.

The pirates all jumped at least a step away from Spock, their eyes wide, their hands either searching for their weapons, or if they were already holding them, then their fingers hovered dangerously over the buttons. Kroth gave a nervous laugh that wasn’t picked up by any of his men. He growled at them, but they were still spooked by the scene. While Spock hadn’t let out another scream and was silent now, he was still writhing around on the floor, hands not leaving his head even for a moment.

It had been cold before Kroth had stripped Jim of his garments, but now he was freezing; the blood drying on his skin was not helping him retain any body warmth. He was beginning to shake uncontrollably, although whether it was from the cold or from seeing his lover suffer he wasn’t sure, but his guards continued to hold onto him, keeping him standing upright.

"Who said that?" Kroth demanded of the room.

Jim wasn't sure what the pirate leader was talking about, but he was thankful none the less as it diverted attention away from him.

"No one said anything," Isamb replied.

"Don't bullshit me, someone said something. In their own language, not in Standard, I heard it. Who was cursing me behind my back?"

Kroth’s face was contorted in anger when he turned around again to face Jim. Suddenly Kroth looked towards the ceiling and stretched his hands wide either side of himself. The dagger dropped to the floor with a clang.

"Identify yourself," he bellowed.

The pirates started murmuring and Jim could feel the grip of the pirates on him loosen--although he was in far too bad a state to take advantage of that; he still wouldn’t be able to fight them off. But if they actually let go of him … Jim gathered his strength. He took a few deep, shaky breaths, but those only cooled him down further. Only a few flesh wounds, he told himself over and over again. You can't risk Kroth getting away, the future of Saketh, the future of the Vulcan people depends on you eradicating the pirate threat now, once and for all.

It seemed Kroth was still the only one who could hear the voices, and he was so engrossed in listening to them, that the pirates found themselves momentarily leaderless and at a loss for what to do without someone like Vig to step up and take control. The panic was rising up in them, he could see it in their faces; their eyes darted from Kroth to one another. They were not sure anymore if their fellow pirate was friend or foe. 

Jim briefly wondered whether Spock may have given in to Kroth’s demands and put him in contact with the ancient Vulcan spirits, but he doubted it. 

As if in confirmation Kroth shouted. “Get out of my head!”

To his right, out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw a pirate back away from Kroth towards the wall of the chamber. She brushed one of the large statues behind her. At that moment she jerked her head back, opened her mouth and didn't stop screaming.

Jim was unceremoniously dropped; he collapsed on top of his shredded clothes--only a few meters away from Spock, who seemed to be suffering from seizures, although Jim couldn’t be sure, as the pirates dropped their torches.

Jim had to get up. If this was the Katra’s way of helping them, then Spock had managed to complete his task (and at no small cost). Now it was up to Jim to take out Kroth while the commotion lasted, and there was no knowing how much time he had left.

Get up! He commanded his body. One last stand, you don't have to hold on much longer. He tried to bring up all the urgency he felt for the Vulcans ... For Spock's people, for his friend’s sacrifice! If Kroth got away, if the voices stopped now without Jim having acted, then the pirates might destroy more stones. If the Klingon got away, he would come back, he’d be a constant threat to this colony. He wouldn’t give up, if he got away he would gather a stronger army and one day he would unleash it on Saketh and the few Vulcan survivors. 

Jim pushed himself onto his knees. His head spun from the sudden movement and then he too started hearing the voices. There were hundreds, no, thousands of them. A rush of noise: loud, invading, all pervasive. There were no echoes. The Katras, dead Vulcans, Jim thought, but he couldn't hold onto the words in his mind, his own thoughts swept away from him in a tidal wave of mental assault. He couldn't think coherently, he had only emotions, actions, reactions, and instincts. The foundation of every thought was swept away before it could form. He collapsed back down onto the floor of the Katric Ark again, his skin burning like hell as he rolled around naked in the dirt, which worked its way into his wounds, as his blood soaked into the dried mud beneath him.

_Jim, can you hear me?_

The thought appeared in his mind, overpowering those of the Katras, but he could not react to it. Then the voices grew quieter around him, a roaring in the distance.

_Spock?_

_Yes, I am here. I will shield you, but I will not be able to do that for long._

_Why not?_

But because Spock was all around Jim's mind, standing guard over it, Jim could feel Spock’s mind and thoughts, so he knew the answer the instant he’d thought the question: Spock was taking a massive battering. This was the last of his strength; soon he would be carried away by the tide.

Jim opened his eyes. The torches that were still working that the pirates had dropped were haphazardly pointing at the bases of the statues that lined the Katric Ark, casting only a reflective glow off them which barely illuminate the chamber. In that faint light though, Jim could make out that all around him people were groaning and whimpering, curled into fetal positions on the floor, or were angrily banging their fists and sometimes their heads against the nearest hard surface. Others looked like crazed animals in pain, running around without a thought, looking for an escape.

He got up, grabbed a torch, dropped it and then tried again. His fingers were numb and stiff. Finally he was satisfied his grip was tight enough to hold onto it. He shone the light in a wide arch around the room. Isamb lay lifeless on the floor a few feet away. Jim rolled him over and stole his coat. The warmth made his skin prick. Then he bent down and took the man’s weapon. He should have been in far more pain, he was sure, Spock must be helping him with the worst of it.

His fingers still felt numb but he held onto the light tightly and darted around the room, from body to body, looking for Kroth. But he wasn't there. 

The light fell on Spock, curled up, bleeding out of his eyes and ears. He swallowed. No, he had to go on—had to find Kroth. What would he have done if it hadn't been for Spock? If he'd have run? He would only have had his instincts to guide him, but he was sure he would have tried to get out of the mountain.

Jim headed down the passageway that lead towards the main entrance, retracing the very steps that he'd taken with Spock all those weeks ago. A time that now seemed like a different life. One in which he hadn’t known what it was like to fall in love. Tears pricked his eyes. But Spock was still alive, he knew. As long as the voices stayed out of his mind, Spock lived.

He kept running. Up ahead he could hear shouting. When he burst into the next room he ran straight into a fist. The fight was bad, hands, feet and teeth were being used equally, while plasma rifles were doubling up as clubs. There were no less than ten people. Everyone had a crazed look in their eyes. The light from Jim’s torch was making him a target and as they started to advance as one on him, they took no notice of the weapon in his hand; they were no longer able to understand that it was dangerous. A pirate threw herself at Jim and he barely had time to leap out of the way. He lost his balance, fell to the ground, and rolled on his shoulder. He jerked up his right hand, which was holding the plasma weapon, took aim, and shot. There was a thud as the first attacker went down, but a second pirate grabbed his leg. They kept on coming at him, like a pack of wild animals, and he could barely keep up defending himself despite the firepower of his weapon. After he had just shot down the fifth pirate, he was shoved to the ground from behind. The pirate was strong, and wrenched the weapon from his grip with ease and flung it aside. Jim looked up and in the dim light of the torch on the ground he saw that it was Kroth. But the spark of intelligence had left the Klingon’s dark eyes, replaced with a terrifying madness. Jim cursed himself that he’d not been able to shoot him first! 

The voices in his head had been kept to a low murmur but now they rose in strength again. Not now, he thought as he wrestled with Kroth. He was losing badly, but fear shot to his heart. Hold on Spock! Don't give up! Don’t die on me, you can’t die!

Jim knew that he was physically weaker than the Klingon and that he had to put his only advantage to good use--that he could just about still think! He scanned the floor. The weapon wasn't lying too far away from him. Jim didn’t aim, he just punched as hard as he could upwards and hit something soft. The man screamed. Jim reached for the plasma gun--he could feel the cold metal. He closed his fingers around the handle and pulled his hand back. Kroth was crushing his ribcage, had his hands around Jim’s neck. He … kill damned Klingon of if he ... his thoughts were being swept away, as the voices, foreign voices rushed through his mind. Bright red light filled his vision.

***

Uhura, put her hands on her hips, and narrowed her eyes at Ensign Baron, from the USS _Excalibur_. They were both standing opposite each other at the edge of the forest on Saketh, near the entrance to the underground city. Behind her she could hear people step up behind her. She swung around to check who it was—Sulu, Chekov, and some security officer—then she focused her attention back on the Ensign.

“Why’s she down here?” she heard the security officer behind her ask Sulu.

Although his voice was quiet, he was clearly not making any effort to prevent it from carrying.

“Well,” Sulu replied nonchalantly, “I hear that she’s quite good at getting people to talk. You know, she is the ship’s communications officer after all.”

Uhura concentrated on the ensign in front of her again and cross her arms. “I don’t have all day. I want a full witness report from you right now. I don’t care if you think you should be asking your Captain for permission to give me one or not. This is a Starfleet investigation launched by the acting-Captain of Starfleet’s flagship. You will tell me what happened down here, and you will tell me now.”

“See,” she heard Sulu whisper, “wouldn’t want to be in her bad books.”

In front of her Ensign Baron nodded slowly. 

“Good,” she said. “I’ll just patch in acting-Captain Scott and Chief Medical Officer McCoy.”

When she’d done that and both Scotty and the doctor had confirmed that they could hear both her and Baron she smiled at the ensign, inviting him to start giving them his account of the events he’d witnessed. 

“Well, um,” he said, “there’s not too much to say really. Commander Spock came running past me so fast I could hardly make out that it was him. He was dragging Captain Kirk along with him, holding his hand tightly and not letting go of him at any point, even when the Captain stumbled. As I said, they rushed past me--they were about ten meters or so away from where I was standing with crewman Jackobs--and we shouted out to them to stop and come back. They didn’t listen though and headed straight for the entrance to the mountain city.”

He turned slightly to indicate the direction in which they’d run with a wave of his hand. 

“I thought they were going to go in. But they didn’t. They just stopped in the middle of the field. Just over there.”

Uhura followed the line of his arm with her eyes. It was a fair distance from here to the entrance of the city. 

“Where exactly?” she asked.

“About half-way from here to the entrance.”

“Go on,” Scotty said. 

“Then the pirates noticed them. We couldn’t shoot though. From where we were posted, we would’ve risked hitting either the Captain or the Commander instead of the pirates and we didn’t know what their plans were, so we did nothing.”

A slight sheen of perspiration was forming on the ensign’s brow. Clearly he wasn’t so confident that he’d acted correctly. 

“They didn’t do anything. Didn’t defend themselves against the pirates at all.”

“They did nothing, they just stood there?” Uhura pressed.

“Um. I … I think they kissed. But I’m not sure of that.”

“Could have been a Vulcan mind-meld,” McCoy cut in. “It’s an ancient ritual. I’ve been reading up a lot about Vulcans recently. They have some telepathic abilities which they can use when they touch certain points on others’ faces with their hands--though I’ve not read anything about them being able to perform it with humans.”

Uhura raised her eyebrows at Baron when he remained silent. “Could it have been that, Ensign?”

“Possibly,” he said woodenly. 

“So maybe the Capt’n was under Commander Spock’s influence?” Scotty said. 

“And if he’d snapped, lost his mind somehow, there’s no telling what his actual plan was--if he even had one,” Bones replied. 

“Did you-,” Uhura began, but was interrupted by Chekov.

“Look out!” the young man shouted. “Pirates!”

Uhura shot to cover behind a tree. She reached out and pulled Baron along with her. 

“Thanks,” he said, when they were, both of them, standing with their backs pressed up against the rough bark of the wide trunk. 

Around them the others had all sought cover too, but there was no weapons’ fire as they’d all expected. Instead there was a lot of shouting. There had to be a whole group of pirates charging right at them, like Vikings from a holo-flick adventure when first disembarking from their ship. She pulled out her phaser and peered around the trunk. One of the pirates was running straight for the tree behind which the security officer from the _Enterprise_ had taken refuge.

“Look out,” she said and leapt away from the trunk, throwing herself to the forest floor as she took aim and fired. 

The pirate stumbled and then went down. Unintelligible shouts reached her ears from all around—the other pirates had not been far behind the one she’d taken down. She stayed low amongst the dead leaves until she was as sure as was possible in the chaos where the pirates were heading. Five were going straight for Sulu and Chekov. In one leap she was up and sprinting towards them, firing her phaser at the approaching pirates whenever a tree or friendly person wasn’t in the way. 

Chekov ran towards the entrance to the mountain, from which ever more pirates were emerging. The ensign dodged the enemies skillfully. Uhura locked eyes with Sulu, who waved her to follow Chekov. 

‘I’ll be fine’, he mouthed, as three pirates came careering around a group of trees in front of him. 

She set off and was soon head to head with Chekov. 

“I do not understand zis! They have all lost their minds!” 

“What is that? Do you hear it too?” she said, panting as they drew closer to the mountain. 

But Chekov was no longer next to her. When she looked back she saw he’d dropped his weapon and was holding a hand to his temple as if he had a bad headache. 

Then she could resolve the sounds she was hearing. They were voices—Vulcan voices. She stopped in her tracks. The pirates coming out of the passageway ahead ignored her and ran past her, just trying to put as much distance between themselves and the mountain as possible. 

She concentrated, then took a few more steps forward--and a few more, until she could clearly hear the thoughts in her mind, but without being overwhelmed by them. There were too many for her to be able to pick out and listen to individual voices, but they were definitely Vulcan and she had no doubt they were the cause of the panic amongst the pirates.

“Lieutenant!” Chekov choked behind her.

He’d fallen to his knees, unable to move, his face contorted in pain. 

She closed her eyes and formed the word clearly in her mind in High Vulcan. 

_Stop._

The intensity of the voices didn’t lessen, if anything it increased and she took a step backwards. The voices were quieter again. 

_Stop what you are doing. Enough._

Ghosts of images, concepts, and thoughts flooded her mind and she was thankful that she was outside of the mountain or the invasion would have overpowered her. But as they were but wisps of information she was able to analyze everything and make some sense of it. She heard Spock’s voice, pleading for help. And he’d received it, evidently, but it was not the kind of help he’d wanted, she could tell from the … thought, the pattern, she picked up, that their reaction had shocked him. Clearly, he hadn’t been able to stop them. Maybe he’d had to concentrate too hard to keep out the flood of voices to be able to talk to them again without risking being overwhelmed. After all, if she as a non-telepath could hear them, how loud must they have been to Spock? Or maybe, she felt her throat tighten, maybe the Spock she knew no longer existed, his mind swept clear of everything that made him Spock. 

_Spock, the Vulcan you talked to, did not want you to react like this. You will be harming him. You must stop._

The current of thoughts in her mind changed. Collectively the sound of the voices sounded darker now, suspicious and distrustful. She wasn’t Vulcan, they could sense that. Why should they listen to her?

She dug deep and brought up memories that she’d tried to bury and ignore in the last few months. Memories of herself and Spock, of the love that they’d shared before the destruction of Vulcan; the trust and familiarity. 

_Spock trusts me, trust me too._

The telepathic storm calmed, the voices retreating gust by gust.

To be continued...


	31. chapter 31

“Keptin! Keptin Kurk, wake up!”

Cold metal was pressed against his neck and then there was a quick sting accompanied by a hiss. Jim opened his eyes slowly. He was in a cold, dark room. At first he thought he was floating; when he concentrated on the sensation, though, he decided he probably wasn't. He couldn't feel his body at all. That would be why it had seemed like he was floating, he decided.

“How are you, Keptin?”

Jim stared at the young man whose face was hovering about ten inches above his. Movement made his vision blurry, but he was able to get a good look at the face eventually; it wasn't too hard to keep his eyes fixed on the face. The guy didn't look threatening; he seemed to be wearing a Starfleet uniform from what he could make out in the low light.

“Who're you?" Jim asked, his words slurred. "An' why are you calling me 'Keptin'?”

The young man’s eyes went wide and he turned his head to look at someone just out of Jim's field of vision.

“I’m scanning his brain now, give me a second. Slight shrinkage of the cortex, bleeding to the brain, some partially destroyed brain tissue ....”

“Bones!” Jim exclaimed.

He'd recognize that voice anywhere and right now he couldn't be happier to hear it even though the diagnosis his friend was establishing was the stuff of nightmares.

The doctor shifted his position so Jim could see his face. "Glad you remember me, kid."

“What the hell happened to me? Why can’t I feel my body?”

“Because, Jim, believe me, right now you really don’t want to. Try not to move."

Another hypo.

Bones addressed the other guy. "The electric fields were probably high enough to cause seizures in his brain. Retrograde and anterograde amnesia are common side effects."

"Bones, I'm right here. Tell me what happened."

His friend leant over him to scan the rest of his body. It was all a blur as he went about it quickly; it was almost certainly not the first scan the doctor had taken that session. Maybe he was checking how well the drugs he'd administered were working.

"The electric fields you were subjected to," Bones said, "were some form of telepathic communication. Normally so low you wouldn't notice them, but you've just been through a telepathic storm."

An electrical storm of sorts? Hmmm ...

"Is that why my skin stings slightly?"

He was pretty sure that if he could feel it in the drugged up state he was in, it had to be pretty bad.

"Yeah, you do have some burns, but I'm afraid that’s the least of your worries, kid."

He let the doctor do his work and give him another hypo—he'd really fucked himself up this time, hadn't he?

Footsteps. Someone was talking to Bones in a lowered voice. Jim needed to know what the hell had happened and where he was. So he listened in, but he could only catch a few sentence fragments here and there.

"... Spock's not doing well ...."

The other person, maybe a nurse, left again.

"So who's Spock?" Jim asked.

Bones paused what he was doing. Eventually it was the young man whose face he'd first woken up to who answered.

"Keptin, he iz your first officer."

Ah. So he was a captain, he just couldn't remember being one. How old was he? Bones looked as he always did, although it was hard to tell with his shaky vision. But that bit of information didn't help to lessen his confusion, because he wasn't sure how old he thought his friend should be right now. Jim stared up at the dark ceiling. 

"Bones?"

"Yes, Jim?"

"How bad is it? Will the amnesia be permanent?"

"Most of the gaps in your long-term memory shouldn't be."

That sounded ominous and Jim felt helpless to know that a part of him was most likely gone forever.

“But,” Bones continued, “you've probably lost everything in your short term memory. Look, I really can’t give you a proper prognosis now—and I'm no expert on this kind of brain trauma. We’ll get your scans to a specialist.” 

Bones moved away and Jim could no longer see him. Was he already leaving him to attend to the other person? His first officer, he reminded himself. He didn't want to be left alone like this; he tried to reach out to touch his friend, to pull him back. It didn't work. His arms weren't co-operating. 

“I told you not to move,” Bones chided him.

“Look, Chekov. Jim’s pumped full of drugs. Strong drugs.” Suddenly Bones was kneeling over him again, his brow deeply furrowed. “Stay with us, Jim, you hear me?”

He waited for his patient to give him some sign that he’d understood; Jim stayed silent, but nodded his head (or tried to do so at least). 

“Chekov, whatever you do, keep him talking. I'm going to see Spock. Jim, we're too far underground for us to beam you straight to sickbay. I've got a second team with a stretcher coming for you, okay? We just need to see to Spock first."

Jim wondered how bad the other person's wounds had to be if Bones thought they needed attention more urgently than his injuries did. As the sound of his friend’s footsteps died down, he tried to stay calm. He knew that even with the help of modern medicine curing brain damage was not straightforward and often not possible; he tried to bury his rising terror. All he could do was to trust in Bones—that he’d at least get to remember that he was a captain, even if not how he came to be in his current state.

“So, um. Chekov, is it? What happened here? Was this one of those disastrous first contact missions they always warn you about at the Academy?”

“No, sir.”

“You sound very solemn. I'm not dying, am I?” 

Despite the good doctor’s orders he craned his neck so that he could take a look at himself. Chekov quickly placed a hand on his forehead to gently press his head down again, but not before Jim had had time to take in the damage. He could understand Chekov’s reactions better now; he was bloody, dirty, and naked.

“Yikes, I'm in a bad state, aren't I?” he said.

And that Spock person was in an even worse state? Poor guy.

“So, talk to me Chekov. I don’t care about what.”

Jim was grateful that the ensign took the opportunity to fill in some of the gaps in his memories. It didn't matter that Bones claimed this amnesia would only be temporary; right now he didn't know who he was. Chekov seemed to be skirting around some of the facts, Jim was sure, as every mission he talked about had a ‘happy ending’, but he was probably trying to keep him calm. Still, it was better to hear a sanitized version than no version at all of his life after the Academy. 

Chekov talked about a mission in which Captain James T. Kirk had apparently saved the day by baring his chest to a Klingon and daring him to shoot. Sounded about right, Jim thought; that was him for sure. 

“… and then zere vas that time you completely fooled some space pirates into thinking you vere a criminal by having a fake microchip at the base of your skull. Another brilliant plan! Your plans, zey always work out!”

“Eh….” 

How should he respond to that? Here was a kid, only just turned eighteen apparently, who talked about him as if he’d hung the moon and the stars in the sky. And Chekov also seemed to like him. Actually like him. That’s not something he’d come across often in his life. Not at school and not at the Academy either. People thought he was too full of himself and to be fair, he never made much of an effort to be liked. He had Bones, he didn't need more friends. This kid somehow looked up to him though—it just wasn't right that he didn't know all the facts. 

“Chekov, that microchip-.”

“You remember?” 

Jim really didn't want to wipe that smile off the ensign’s face, but he didn't think he could live with concealing the truth.

“No, I don’t. But, um, I think you should know that that wasn't some brilliant plan. That chip is real. I really did spend time in prison.”

They were both silent for a while until Jim took pity on Chekov; he hadn't planned to say much more, but it was probably best to explain, even if he didn't really want to. 

“I became obsessed with fast cars, fast motorcycles, anything fast really, when I was quite young.” Chekov didn't need to know just how young and what the circumstances were. “And as soon as I was able to I started to enter the races. Soon I was the fastest idiot in the American mid-west.”

“And those races, zey vere illegal? That’s why you vent to prison?”

Jim choked out a laugh. “They were illegal all right, but no, I didn't go to prison simply for taking part in one.” Then he continued in a more somber tone, “But I wanted to win, all right? I needed the best, the fastest bike. So that’s what I ended up spending years of my life on. A bike. Buying parts for it, upgrading it, replacing parts when it got trashed in races.”

“I do not follow.”

“They don’t just hand out _TxK_ -8 fuel injection systems to anyone, you know. Let alone ones in which the safety regulators have been removed, and the pressure points re-jigged so that the engine runs at temperatures above 700 Kelvin. No, I'm afraid to get those kind of parts I had to mix with a pretty bad crowd and I got sucked into that life. I could hack anything that contained a computer chip if it somehow got me closer to the next part I needed for my bike. And I always needed more parts.”

Jim sighed. “You just start to lose perspective at some point, what’s acceptable, what’s not; what’s right, what’s wrong. When I was caught and sentenced, I was offered reduced time if I gave them names and turned in my bike. I did neither.”

In the silence that stretched between them Jim could hear the people approaching. 

“I'm not proud of the person I was then,” Jim said quietly. “Not at all. When I joined Starfleet I got rid of that bike, gave it away just before I boarded my shuttle. I don’t like to look back.”

Then he was lifted onto a stretcher. All the way to the surface, Chekov didn't leave his side.

***

Maxime disembarked from his shuttle. The spacestation was the busiest in the system as it handled almost all traffic in and out of the Sol system. Where next? He didn't really know. He just knew that he had to lie low for a while. The Vulcans were a sensitive topic and he knew he’d probably ruffled more than a few feathers with his report. And the network heads would certainly not be too happy that he’d used his position to broadcast it across the entire system without their permission. 

Eventually he found a hotel he could check into without providing the many details that he wasn't too keen on sharing, such as his name. He then sat himself down in the hotel bar with a drink—he really needed one! 

The person next to him was watching one of the entertainment screens that had been placed in each corner of the room. 

“Hey, have you seen this already?” the man asked him and pointed to the nearest screen. 

_…undercover at the mayor’s office. Not unusual to hear the Vulcan survivors talked about as a drain on the city. ‘Those Vulcans are just really depressing to be around,’ one employee said, to which the mayor replied: ‘Yeah, tell me about it. At least you don’t have to talk to those pointy ears! Can’t we just ship them off to the nearest desert mining colony?’_

Maxime simply nodded in reply—he’d voiced the report himself—and finished his drink quickly. 

_It might surprise many that even Starfleet personnel showed an inconceivable lack of sympathy for the genocide survivors. In the dreary refugee city, the following recording was made._

_“I don’t know why we should be more patient with them than with anyone else. It’s not like they have emotions or anything. It’s just getting ridiculous. They want our help, but the stubborn green-bloods won’t talk to us properly or anything. They just sit around and mediate all day. Especially the council of leaders.”_

The image switched from that of the person he’d talked to, to show a group of Vulcans sitting in a circle surrounded by medical equipment and various tubes.

_“Great leaders they are, locked away, so deep in meditation that the pointy ears asked us to hook them up to some machines so they can be fed artificially, ‘cause they are too busy to eat apparently. How can you be too busy to eat when all you do day in day out is sit on your green, bony ass?”_

Quietly Maxime slipped out of the bar and went to his room where he activated the privacy lock. Maybe it would be a while before all this died down.

***

“Hey, how’re you feeling?” Bones asked. 

Jim sat up in his sickbay bed. “Loads better, thanks. I can feel another headache coming on though.”

“Hang on, I’ll get you something.”

Yet another hypo-spray full of medicine was injected into his bloodstream. 

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” The doctor folded his arms across his chest. “If you promise me you’ll take it easy and get some rest-” 

Jim nodded.

“-I’ll even release you from sickbay. How does that sound?”

A big grin spread across Jim’s face. “Sounds excellent.”

He got out of bed and picked up the PADDs on the medical trolley next to the bed—his personal logs. All in all he was feeling a lot better. He still had no idea how he’d ended up in the state his friends had found him in, but as Bones said, that was to be expected. Other than that, his memory seemed to be okay. Yeah, he’d come across some things in his journals that he didn't remember, but no one had a perfect memory, right? And he’d scored lower on the aptitude tests than he usually did, a lot lower in fact, but he still felt a bit disorientated, so he probably shouldn't be worried. And it was early days, wasn't it? His scans were still being analyzed by the specialists. 

He patted his friend’s back as he sauntered past him to stand at Spock’s beside. 

Bones followed him. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know? I can tell you’re worried about him. But there’s really no need. Spock should make a full recovery. With this healing trance he can mend himself better than I could ever fix him up. Wonderful creatures, those Vulcans. Just don’t tell him I ever said that, okay?”

“Yeah, but you also said that as a telepath his brain was more sensitive to the electrical fields than mine. I'm worried, because I know how this is affecting me, and his brain suffered far more damage than mine did.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll be right as rain when he regains consciousness and won’t have any of the troubles you’re going through. I was just concerned at first that he might not be able to put himself in a trance, but now he’s in it, I know he’ll be fine.”

“How long ‘til he wakes up?”

“I’d say seven days.”

I must believe that Spock will wake up, he told himself, as he left sickbay.

***

The first thing he noticed when he entered his quarters was a neatly folded shirt on one of his chairs—it was blue, one of Spock’s. But he couldn't remember how it had gotten there. He picked it up and sat down heavily on his bed. He hadn't been able to access all his personal log entries; those that concerned his relationship with Spock had been securely encoded. So what did he remember? How had their relationship started? He searched for his earliest memory of them both together.

One day he’d opened the doors to his quarters and Spock had just walked straight in and kissed him. Jim tried to reconcile the man he knew his first officer to be with someone who’d just walk into his superior’s quarters and kiss him out of nowhere. A tear slid down his face. The terror he’d felt when he’d come around in the underground city gripped him again. That can’t have been their first kiss! He scrunched up the shirt in his hands, holding it tightly to his chest. His arms were shaking slightly when he finally put the shirt back where he’d found it. Oh Spock.

Not much later he had to deal with a three-way call between himself, Captain Patel, and Admiral Barrows, which he took in the conference room. 

“I'm sure my CMO has passed my brain scans and cognitive test results onto specialists at Starfleet medical,” Jim said. “So I'm surprised you were not informed or that you missed the memo, but I don’t remember what happened, Admiral, so there’s no point in you asking me all these questions.”

He realized his tone wasn't really going down well, so he added a quick “sir.”

“I can’t guess why I woke up in some cave with my brain fried,” he continued. “Once I've read and compiled all the reports from my crew, and once the Commander wakes up, or my memories of the event return, I might have the answers to your questions.”

“Hmmm…,” Barrows replied. “Well, I will trust that you had your reasons for what you did. And you have managed to rid Saketh of the pirates, although why you’d chose such a violent method that would leave all the survivors, including yourself, with severe brain injuries I cannot fathom—though I know you can’t either at the moment. You’re to stay in orbit around Saketh to investigate what took place, though I think you can understand that I am putting that investigation into Captain Patel’s hands, while your crew is to assist him unreservedly.”

Jim nodded in agreement. “Understood.”

He thought that would be all, but Barrows continued to talk. 

“As for Spock: I want to get the investigation into his conduct with the prostitute out of the way as soon as possible.”

Investigation? What? Jim felt his stomach drop. Had he submitted a report to Starfleet about it? He thought he’d decided not to. 

He held up a hand. “Wait, what?”

Barrows looked concerned. 

“Sorry,” Jim elaborated, “but if I submitted a report about his conduct during that mission, I want to withdraw it now. He had his reasons and I'm completely satisfied with them.”

The meaning of Jim’s words took a moment to register with Barrows, but when it did his expression of concern shifted to one of disbelief and anger flashed across his eyes. 

“So the accusations are true?” Barrows bellowed. 

Patel’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. 

“You did not submit the report, Patel did,” the admiral said. “And if it all actually happened then I definitely want a review, no matter how easily you claim it can be explained. For the future, Captain, such incidents which involve crew members with a history are to be reported to me or one of the other fleet admirals, understood? Even when they involve your favorite officer. He’ll regain his command privileges after the inquest, which we’ll aim to keep as brief as possible. Right, if that’s all, I've got some business here on Earth that needs sorting. Barrows out.”

Patel was still on the line, but Jim didn't pay him much attention as his brain was doing overtime. A review into Spock’s conduct? Barrows was right, of course. With Spock’s record of having had an ‘inappropriate’ relationship with a cadet he knew the admiral really didn't have much choice but to call an inquest, but if there was one, then they’d find out about his relationship with Spock—and they’d put an end to it. Their track record would again leave the admirals with no other choice. Barrows had just confirmed that to him—‘your favorite officer’; they were no doubt already scrutinizing his mission reports carefully, having spotted in their early missions that they would each take great risks to keep the other from harm. 

He remembered the shirt on the chair. No, he couldn't allow that to happen. He mustn't lose Spock. When he looked up Patel’s brow was deeply furrowed and his hands were folded in front on him.

“How much of your memory have you lost and will you get it back again?” the other captain asked.

Jim ran his fingers through his hair. “I seem to have some gaps in my memories. Mostly of the last few months. Maybe further back too, I don’t know; but I think those memories are okay. I definitely am missing a lot of what happened very recently though.”

There was concern in Patel’s eyes and he wrung his hands. “Take care of yourself, Jim. I hope you get better soon.”

“Thank you.”

The connection was terminated and he was alone in the conference room with his thoughts. Now what? Admiral Barrows was insisting on the review, so he would need someone high up in the chain of command to help him if he was going to stop this.

Pike. He couldn't think of anyone else who he might be able to turn to for help. And yet, he was certain that once Pike found out what he’d done, that he’d kept such a significant relationship secret from his superiors, from Pike himself, that he wouldn't be warmly received by his former mentor. In fact that was a bit of an understatement. He imagined Pike’s hard, blue eyes bearing down on him, trying to reprimand him with the intensity of the disappointment in them. Above all else Pike would resent him for having the gall to ask for help with this whole messy business, to ask him to cover up for his mistakes. By dragging Pike into this, he’d almost certainly lose the good opinion the man had of him.

With a knot in his throat Jim sat down to draft a message to Pike. He asked him for help, but then stopped short of explaining the whole situation. Maybe it wasn't necessary to? After all, he wasn't the only one who had a soft spot for Spock. He sent it off.

“Captain Kirk to sickbay.”

“McCoy here.”

“Hey Bones, it seems I do still have a few problems with my long term memory. Also, I'm calling you ‘cause I need to know how long you think it’ll be ‘til Spock wakes up? I really need to know, so that I can plan how much time I have to sort out this review that I don’t remember anything about.”

“I already told you. 7 days. Don’t you remember?”

“My mind must’ve been elsewhere.”

“Fuck. Jim, look, as much as I hate to do this to you, but I'm going to have to relieve you of your command for the time being. Retrograde amnesia is bad, but anterograde? Jim, that’s … worse. This is only temporary, you hear. We’ll try and fix that brain of yours, try and get your memories back, and make sure your ability to learn and remember things is restored. The inability to remember facts might naturally only last a short time, but when we take into account your low test scores… .”

Jim scowled. “Fine,” he said, and cut the connection before Bones could say anything further. 

He clenched his fists. He was thankful to be alive, but there was no doubt he and Spock had both sacrificed a lot in that chamber to get rid of the pirates. Why had he gone in there with Spock? It didn't make sense to him that he’d do something so reckless without good reason, but on the other hand he wasn't exactly sure he knew who he was right now. He put his head in his hands and gave up for the day. 

Without going to the mess to eat he went straight back to his quarters and got ready for bed. If he was hungry he could concentrate on his stomach all night, rather than the concerns he had.

***

Jim woke up with a start. The bed sheet was soaked in sweat; he shivered as the cold, circulating air blew across his chest. He reached for his right shoulder; his pulse was quick beneath his fingers. 

“Computer, lights.”

The brightness did nothing to banish the feeling that he was somewhere dangerous. He got up quickly and went to take a shower. His morning routine calmed him down until he exited the bathroom and sat down at his desk, fingers hovering over the controls of his terminal. There was no work for him to do. Scotty was in command.

He sat back in his chair and picked up a PADD to check his messages. There was a very short one from Pike. 

_No. I won’t help. It’s a shame that you and Patel can’t work together and that each of you are resorting to whatever means you can to gain control of the mission you were assigned jointly. You’re on your own here. I don’t want to get involved. Sort it out with Patel._

Spock had become a pawn in a game of politics. Wow. Jim remembered how he’d been a bit of dick towards Patel during the Klingon mission, but he’d never thought that their working relationship would've become this messed up. Was it his fault? Had he angered Patel further by arrogantly trying to turn the mission into a one-man show and ignoring the older Captain’s existence? Whatever had happened, he felt that it was quite likely that Spock would not be facing an inquiry right now if only he hadn't messed up with Patel. 

Maybe it would be best if he called Pike and came clean. So why wasn't he asking Uhura to set up the call for him right now? His face flushed warm with guilt; Spock didn't deserve this review, but he would be cleared. McCoy could provide all the evidence. He didn't want to lose Pike from his life. 

He stared at his terminal. There were still those encoded personal log entries that he hadn't read. Yes, decoding them would be a good way to take his mind of the issue. While it worked to stop the thoughts on whether or not to call Pike, he found that the encoded messages frustrated him at every turn. Had he been so good that he’d designed codes so secure even he as their designer couldn't crack them, or had he simply lost the ability to break codes?

Two hours later he was ready to listen to the recordings. 

_Captain’s personal log, Stardate 2259.37._

He heard himself chuckle softly in the recording. 

_Man, it’s so weird to make an entry about this, but yeah, Spock actually cuddled me last night. I still can’t believe it. But, whatever… I feel like I'm making progress. I understand him better now, I really do. I apologized. I actually told him that I loved him._

Silence.

_I think I did the right thing; he’s certainly stopped going on about not wanting to give me his heart. No, that phrase has been replaced by ‘I only have anger in my heart’. Still—progress, of a kind. I promised him that I would stick with him through this and I fully intend to do that. I won’t give up._

Jim paused the recording. Yes, he loved Spock. So why was he still not on the line to Pike? Maybe because he still found it hard to believe that Spock would actually wake up. In one fluid movement he was up out of his chair. Immediately he felt a sharp pain in the back of his skull. Right, he could go see Spock and Bones at the same time.

He went to sickbay to get his head seen to, but Bones wasn't there. Instead he ran into Chapel who informed him that Spock was doing well, that he might even wake up sooner than expected. He could've asked her about his headache, but he suddenly didn't want to—he knew it was possibly childish, but he couldn't help it; he wanted to see Bones. No other doctor or nurse would do. It was really starting to hurt pretty badly though, so he decided he would keep vigil over Spock’s silent form later. Now he had to hunt down his favorite doctor. 

He finally found him in the mess sitting with Sulu and Uhura. If he’d had the energy he might've tried to put on at least a fake smile, but it was all he could manage not to let the agony show that he was in. As casually as he could he strolled over to the group and sat down next to Uhura. They all smiled politely at him in greeting before resuming the conversation they’d been having. Jim listened in. He was fascinated at all the encouraging advice Sulu had to offer Bones, while Uhura’s words were simple yet effective in providing comfort. He could tell that they soothed Bones. When Bones had come to him with his worries about his daughter he’d never really known what to say. It reminded him of how he’d felt at school when it seemed like everyone else around him had always known how not to act awkwardly. Now he felt just like he often had back then—he felt insecure. It was not a feeling he liked; it wasn't who he was meant to be. 

Jim hadn't even realized that he’d closed his eyes until Bones touched his shoulder. 

“Jim, you okay?”

“Just a headache.”

“Why didn't you say something right away? Come on, let’s get it looked at.”

To be continued...


	32. chapter 32

“Jim, I’m afraid you haven’t made any improvement; your ability tests show the same low score,” Bones said as he finished taking the latest set of scans the experts had requested.

“I don’t feel more stupid,” Jim grumbled.

It was frustrating that the tests showed he was when he didn’t feel it.

Bones glanced up from his work. “Have any more memories returned?”

_Skin on skin; sensitive Vulcan fingertips brushing down the insides of his thighs._

“Yup! The first few days I seemed to be getting quite a few back, although since yesterday I think I’ve hit some kind of plateau. But I actually feel like I know who I am now--I don’t think I’m missing too much more. Sulu said he’d test me on whether I still remember how to pilot a shuttle craft.”

“As long as you don’t get yourself killed.”

He laughed and swung himself off the bed. 

At that moment Chapel joined them. “Spock’s coming ‘round.”

Jim’s heart was hammering in his chest; he wanted to bolt to Spock’s bedside, but Bones seemed perfectly content to wait. The doctor stood with a PADD, leisurely looking through the data. Then he went to a terminal, presumably to forward the brain scans to Starfleet Medical. Chapel came to stand at Jim’s side and placed a hand lightly on his forearm. 

“I think you’re annoying him by tapping your foot like that,” she whispered.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize I was ….” 

As soon as he forced himself to stop he felt restless though, but controlled himself enough to not pace around the room. They waited another couple of minutes, before Bones finally turned to face them. 

“Finished. Let’s go.”

They walked to the corner of sickbay that Spock had occupied for five days now. Bones pulled back the light green privacy curtain; Jim’s heart sank. Spock hadn’t stirred, he could tell. He hung back as Bones and Chapel went to stand on his right. Then Jim slipped in after them and took his place on the left-hand side of the bed. 

The other two checked monitors, talked to one another softly, and scanned Spock’s still form. Jim straightened his shirt first, then his pants; it stopped him from tapping his foot, but it wasn’t anywhere near as good at calming him. 

“Nurse Chapel, I think that’s all. If you’d go to Ensign Rossetti and administer his medication now?” Bones said not even looking up from the chart in his hands. 

“Of course,” she said and left.

Bones continued to study the chart. 

Finally he looked up. “She’s gone.”

Then he lowered his gaze back to the PADD.

Jim stared at Bones. Then he looked down at Spock. Did Bones know? Maybe he’d told him? Fuck it, it didn’t matter either way. Jim took Spock’s cool hand in his and squeezed it. His own heart was so loud he could hear it beating clearly. 

“Spock?”

Jim studied the alien’s face. It was more blotchy green than white, though his lips were tinged pink as always, and there was some swelling around his nose. Spock’s features were relaxed; there was no movement to be seen on his face at all apart from that caused by the steady rise and fall of his chest. 

Spock's ear twitched—it actually twitched! Jim couldn't suppress a laugh. He didn't know when he’d last laughed and all of a sudden he couldn't stop. Spock was waking up!

Then, before Spock even opened his eyes, there was the familiar twitch in his face of an eyebrow being raised. When he opened his eyes, they went to first to Jim and then to McCoy.

"Captain?" 

Spock's voice was a hoarse whisper. Jim grinned. So Spock remembered! 

"I’m just happy that you're okay,” he explained.

Opposite him Bones was waving his hand held scanner over Spock; it made a whirring noise and then the doctor turned it off again.

"Apart from cosmetics, Spock," he said, "you're completely healed. I just didn't want to subject you to too much regeneration in one go, so don't take off in fright when you look at yourself in a mirror. I guess your body wisely concentrated its efforts on healing your brain."

"Just a few bruises," Jim said fondly.

Then Bones left them alone. Jim stared after him as he went to his office. Then he stepped away from the bed and drew the curtains tightly shut.

"Spock," Jim said and now allowed his voice to become thick with emotion, "we did it. We got the pirates out of the underground city. Kroth is dead."

Spock's eyes had been following the doctor’s retreat too, but now they flicked towards Jim’s. Jim brushed his fingers against Spock's and watched his friend's eyes fall closed at the touch. Clearly he was still exhausted. Jim pulled up a nearby seat, not letting go of Spock’s hand, circling each knuckle in turn with his thumb.

About a quarter of an hour later Bones returned. 

“I might not particularly like Spock,” he began, which made Jim furrow his brow. 

Bones shrugged. “He has a rather annoying tendency to make decisions based on heartless calculations. But he’s a damned good first officer, I’ll give him that. I’m glad for the friendship you’ve found in one another.” Bones grinned at him in a lopsided way. “I might not understand the bond you share, but I’ve gotta respect it—you two are one hell of a team.”

***

Despite his words, Bones had soon shooed Jim out of sickbay though, telling him he needed to get some proper rest. So back to his quarters he went because there was definitely nothing for him to do there what with Scotty taking care of his ship and all. He jumped onto his bed with a PADD, so he could browse the entertainment and news channels. When he was about to give up on finding anything interesting, a report caught his eye. 

_The Vulcans deserve better…_

The voice was familiar—where had he heard it before? He watched the report twice. 

Then he put the PADD down, crossed his arms behind his head and lay back. It had cost him a lot to rid Saketh of the pirates and until tomorrow at the earliest Spock wouldn’t be able to tell him exactly what had happened (if he remembered), but whatever had occurred there, he could live with the sacrifices he’d made--for the Vulcans, for Spock’s people. 

Spock. He stared up at the ceiling a while longer, collecting his thoughts. Since he’d been relieved of command he’d not heard anything about the impending inquest. But surely they were now pushing for it to be as soon as possible, since everyone would want him to be able to take over as acting captain. And there was nothing he could do about the review … except for one thing. 

With a lump in his throat he called the bridge—Uhura was on duty at her communications station. Not that it really mattered who was on duty, he was sure any of his crew would carry out this request without question regardless of his current command status. 

“Could you set up a video call to Admiral Pike and have it directed to my quarters? Secure channel please.”

“Yes, sir. One moment.”

Jim went to his terminal; the screen flickered to life. 

“Do you know what time it is here?” Pike’s hair was in disarray and he was still unshaven.

“Hello to you too,” Jim said.

Pike massaged the back of his neck with his right hand. “How’re you kid? Heard you got yourself beaten up on the inside this time, not just the outside.”

“This isn’t about me,” Jim said to deflect the question. “Spock’s just woken up. Doctor McCoy says he’s fine.”

Pike smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

“So he’s going to be standing in front of a review panel soon, unless you can help us out here.”

“The review? Again?” Pike leant forward in his chair. “Jim, why? I’ve already read the evidence Doctor McCoy has submitted. I can’t say that more investigation into this case isn’t needed, but I’m sure he’ll be acquitted.”

There was no turning back now. Jim had made his choice and he’d chosen his relationship with Spock over his friendship with Pike. He knew he’d messed up, if only he’d been honest from the start—but that was something he couldn’t change now.

He looked down at his hands. “I’m not worried about the actual accusations, but rather what the further investigations you talked about will reveal. Spock and I, … we’re lovers.”

A loud noise made him snap his head up to the screen; Pike had brought his fist down on the table in front of him. 

“You know how vulnerable Spock is after all he’s been through. I can’t believe you took advantage of him in this state, just because you needed your alien sex fix!” Pike’s face was flushed red. “You disgust me. And now you’re asking me to cover up for you? The nerve you have!”

Jim threw his hands up in front of him in a placating gesture. “It’s not like that. I didn’t take advantage of Spock! And I’m not asking for help for my sake, but for Spock’s.”

“Oh Really?” Pike didn’t raise his voice, but it’s edge was so sharp it would have been able to slice through tritanium with ease. “Because it’s normally the superior officer who gets their ass kicked when a relationship in the same chain of command was kept secret from those who should’ve been informed--in this case me, or any of the other admirals you take orders from, Kirk. Obviously I made a grave mistake in judgment. I wanted to believe in you, but you’re still too arrogant, too full of yourself to take the responsibilities that you have to take as a captain.”

He’d never in his life seen Pike this angry; he knew he’d hurt him. 

“No, this isn’t about me, it’s about Spock. Chris, you just said, he’s already had to deal with so much….”

But at that moment Pike terminated the connection.

***

“This is a sickbay not a conference room!” Bones protested as the senior crew all filtered in to stand around Spock’s bedside. “Should I be providing little sandwiches as snacks, too? Would you like that?”

“Ay, this meeting will only take a wee while, Doctor McCoy,” Scotty said. “Still, sandwiches are always appreciated.”

Jim had chosen to wear civilian clothing. He’d been invited to join them, but the reality, that he was no longer the captain of the _Enterprise_ , had sunk in the moment he’d disembarked from the shuttle with Sulu. All those years of training for nothing—he couldn’t even fly a shuttle anymore. 

He didn’t want to make this harder for Scotty or anyone else, so he stood to one side; he’d make sure to hold his tongue and let his chief engineer take the lead. 

Spock was able to remember everything—he explained what had happened and, most importantly, why. Jim was glad that he wasn’t currently going through hell for nothing, that there’d been a reason for their actions. 

“So can ye tell if the stones are still intact?” Scotty asked.

“I will have to go down there again, but I would not do so before meditating extensively in preparation.”

***

The next day Jim stalked the ship’s corridors. He was making his way towards sickbay to see Spock, but he wasn’t taking the most direct route—there was a lot going through his mind and he wanted to have it at least somewhat in order before he told Spock that he’d told Pike. It seemed Pike wasn’t going to be much help, but at least he probably wouldn’t tell the other admirals. If he had, then it was already over. But he didn’t believe that; they could still come up with a plan together. Maybe he could teach Spock how to lie--after all, Spock was half-human. 

He stopped walking; he was there. The doors to sickbay slid open and he walked through. But Spock wasn’t in his bed. 

“Nurse Chapel?”

“Yes sir?”

“Where’s Mr. Spock?”

“Oh, he was released about a quarter of an hour ago. I think he’s gone to the _Excalibur_ because of the review.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Why wasn’t I told?”

“I informed Acting Captain Scott,” Chapel replied, smiling weakly.

Jim nodded. “Right.”

Then he bolted. He had to get to the transporter room! But when he got there the ensign at the controls refused to beam him over. He’d had his command taken away from him after all and so he was in no position to tell the ensign what to do. Fuck. Fuck and fuck again. 

He hit the controls of the nearest comm panel on the wall. “Scotty!”

“Mr. Kirk, what can I do for ye?”

“I need to stop the review. I need to get over to the _Excalibur_ now!”

“Sir, ye cannae do that. We need Commander Spock back. I dinnae want this responsibility--we have to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

“No, Scotty, listen to me. This inquest has to be stopped. And I’m not mad, I might have lost some memories, some abilities to learn, maybe even some professional knowledge, hell knows I’m not the captain any more with good reason, but I’m not insane. You’ve got to believe me on this one.”

“I know, sir, I know. But what are ye gonna do? Do ye have a plan?”

Jim closed his eyes. Quietly he said: “No.” 

The statement was met with silence and Jim knew they all pitied him--James T. Kirk without plan--and he hated that more than anything. He never had a plan anyway! Right, so Pike hadn’t stopped the review. Who else could he ask for help? Who? 

“Uhura?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you put me through to Maxime Lessard, UE News 24? Contact his family or something; get hold of his personal comm frequencies. Starfleet intelligence might have them. Just somehow … can you get hold of him?”

He imagined her exchanging glances with Scotty. Did he still have the man’s trust? An agonizing few heart beats later she replied. 

“Yes, sir, I can do that.”

Jim breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, when you get hold of him, put the call through to the conference room on a secure channel. This call is to be off the records.”

“Understood.”

“Okay, Kirk out.”

He dashed out of the transporter room and as soon as he got to his destination he commed Uhura for a status update. 

“Mr. Lessard is standing by. Voice only.”

“Thank you!” Jim replied.

“Captain Kirk, what can I do for you?” Maxime asked.

“Maxime. You remember we met on Verna VI?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You still want that interview?”

“You saw my report? I thought Starfleet wanted to string me up!”

“Maybe they do. But I’m not talking to you officially. This is on a secure channel and strictly off the record.”

“I know, otherwise I wouldn’t be talking to you now. So you’re offering me an interview off the record?”

“If that’s what you want. But I want something in return.”

“And what would that be?”

Jim took a deep breath. “Well, since you’re now the hero within the media who’s uncovering all misdeeds against the Vulcans, I have something here for you. Here’s what I want you to do ….”

***

Jim cut the call to Maxime after a hurried promise that he would get his interview in full at a later date. He collapsed in his chair, sprawling his upper body over the table in front of him. 

“Kirk to … sickbay.” 

“McCoy here. What’s up?”

Jim closed his eyes tight, but nothing he did made it any easier to breathe. His head felt it like was in some kind of vice that was tightening by the second. He wasn’t sure how long he’d lain there like that, but when the doors hissed open he groaned at the disturbance. 

“Jim! McCoy to sickbay, medical emergency: I want a team sent to the conference room now.”

The doctor scanned him and then sat him upright. 

“That hurts!” Jim protested. 

“Open your eyes for me.” 

Jim complied. 

“They’re bloodshot,” Bones said. “Shit, I think you’re brain is suffering some small seizures. This hypo is going to knock you out, okay?”

Jim just grunted in reply. He felt the hypo against his neck and welcomed the blackness.

When he came to he was unsurprisingly in sickbay. He was no longer in pain, and he knew where he was, why he was there. He was, or had been, Captain James T. Kirk. 

Bones came over to his bedside. “Can I take a seat?” 

“Sure,” Jim said, a grin on his face at the absurdity of his friend’s question. “Anything that will stop me getting bored here in sickbay.”

“I’ve consulted the experts,” the doctor said. “There are a variety of treatment plans you could follow. I think we should start one soon though so that this doesn’t happen again.”

“Whichever you think is best, Bones.”

“Huh. Well, in that case … I’ll be honest. All the established treatments won’t get you the results you need to resume your career in the Fleet and I’ll be damned if I have to serve the next few years under Captain Spock. That’s not my idea of a fun time. There are some new forms of brain therapy which we could try—but they are just that, brand new, still in the final stages of testing.”

“They’d be able to repair the damage completely?”

“Possibly. A combination of drugs and mental exercises will encourage regeneration, but most importantly help your brain adjust so undamaged areas can take over more functions.”

Jim closed his eyes. “So what you’re saying is, you can make me smart again. But what about all the professional knowledge I lost? The memories?”

“I’m sorry, Jim ….”

In one movement Jim sat up and fixed Bones with hard blue eyes. Then he nodded and a smile spread across his face. 

“Then I’d better have a look through the Starfleet curriculum and study everything that I’ve forgotten. I’ll sit all the exams again if necessary. I can do that. Don’t worry, you won’t have to live with Captain Spock for too long.”

“The treatment will take a while. You’ll be on medical leave for several months.”

“Gives me plenty of time to relearn everything! You’ll see, I’ll be back.”

“Back? Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Jim stuck out his lower lip and pretended to study the ceiling. “I can’t stay here on the _Enterprise_. I couldn’t take it to be here and not be in command of her. And it wouldn’t be fair on Spock; I can’t put him in a position in which he has to listen to me telling him what we should be doing, leaving him to guess whether I’m well enough to actually make the call or not.”

“You want to take medical leave on Earth?”

“Hell no.”

“Saketh?”

“What? No! I mean….”

Jim thought about it. On Saketh he could at least do something useful with his time by helping to set up the new colony. 

“Maybe. Would I be able to?”

Bones was silent for a while. “You know, I don’t want to let you out of this sickbay, let alone onto some crazy planet that could be full of dangers we don’t even know about yet. You’d be far away from a medical facility until they establish one down there. But I know you. You’re a reckless idiot, and you won’t be happy locked up in a hospital. And I think for you to heal, you have to be happy. And you’re right--you wouldn’t be if you stayed here. I’ll look into it for you.”

“Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“So,” Bones said eventually. “The review. You want it stopped. Why?”

“How long was I unconscious for?”

“Not long. It’s only been about half an hour since I found you.”

Well, it wasn’t like there was anything else he could do now to stop it. 

“What do you think? Why do I want to stop it?” he asked bitterly, remembering Pike’s reaction.

“Because you like Spock. You like him a lot. And you want to protect him.”

At least his friend understood him. Maybe one day Pike would. Bones stood up to leave.

“Wait, don’t go,” Jim said. 

“What is it, kid?” 

“To stop the review I called Pike. I told him everything, Bones. I tried to drag him into this. I think I’ve lost the man’s good grace forever. And I knew I would, too. I knew he’d never forgive me.”

Bones gripped Jim’s upper arm tightly. 

“Thanks,” Jim replied.

Yeah, his friend knew that he saw Pike as a kind of father figure. He understood what it had therefore cost him to ruin his relationship with Pike.

“I’m sure Spock will appreciate it,” Bones mumbled. 

Clearly the doctor was trying to convince himself of that fact, but didn’t quite believe it. He was never going to understand Spock, was he? It brought a smile to Jim’s face.

“Sir,” Uhura’s voice sounded over the intercom. “Acting Captain Spock would like to talk to you.”

Acting Captain? The inquest couldn’t have finished so quickly, there hadn’t even been time for it to start, right? Which could only mean one thing ….

He could hear the smile Uhura was wearing, it colored her voice as she said that she would transfer Spock’s call to the nearest sickbay monitor. Clearly contacting Maxime had been the right thing to do!

Spock appeared on screen, one eyebrow already raised, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Admiral Pike has informed me that Starfleet has come to the conclusion that they do not wish to risk further tarnishing their public image by ‘mistreating’ a Vulcan over a trivial cultural misunderstanding.” When speaking the last few words Spock narrowed his eyes slightly.

Jim got the feeling there would be ‘words’ later because he’d pulled the ‘have pity on the Vulcans’ card. And he was sure that had probably pissed Spock off no end (that is to say he’d find it morally questionable), but he hadn’t been able to think of anything else even though he knew it was wrong. 

“I believe he’d already been trying to persuade the Admirals of this course of action, when the press received an anonymous tip off,” Spock paused for less than a heartbeat to stare at Jim more intensely, “from within Starfleet about this investigation and informed them that they had no qualms in publishing this story in the evening news.”

Jim grinned. Well it had worked, and for now that’s all he cared about.

Spock continued. “How circumspect of the press to risk depriving themselves of such an interesting news story by informing Starfleet of their intentions before the inquest could even begin.”

“Who says the press has no morals?” Jim winked. “So the inquest hadn’t even started?”

“No. Jim, I must go. I will talk to you later.”

To be continued...


	33. chapter 33

Jim paced his quarters. Spock still wasn’t back on board; he’d stayed on the _Excalibur_ after the review had been cancelled. Most likely the Vulcan scientists had many questions about what had happened down on Saketh that he needed to answer. And as soon as Spock told them about the home-stones, then things would move quickly; they might be drawing up plans for a colony on Saketh right now. Or maybe he was in a meeting with Patel. 

Jim balled his hands into fists. How was he meant to relax while he was stuck in these quarters, totally out of the loop, and completely useless to anyone? He couldn’t; he’d had enough of that in prison. 

This ship had been his home, but it wasn’t anymore. Hopefully it would be again once he’d recovered, but there was no point spending a moment longer stuck in these quarters. He stopped his pacing and made himself presentable before sitting down at his desk. 

“Kirk to bridge. Lieutenant Uhura, please put me through to the Vulcan delegation on the _Excalibur_.”

It was time to give up the _Enterprise_ —he had to sort out his immediate future.

***

The leader of the Vulcan science delegation, Sklek, accompanied Jim to the doors of the _Excalibur_ 's conference room, while the other scientists remained seated—they'd probably be up all night discussing plans for the colony, Jim thought.

"And finally, Captain Kirk," Sklek said, as the doors opened, "on behalf of the Vulcan people, I would like to express my gratitude to you once again."

"I'm just happy to help," Jim replied with a grin.

And he was. They’d talked over the plan in rough, but assuming he got the doctor’s approval, they’d start setting up a temporary camp on Saketh as early as tomorrow. 

The minute the door slid shut and he was alone in the corridor his thoughts turned to Spock though, who hadn’t been in the meeting. According to the other Vulcans he was in sickbay, where his wife was in a critical condition. He walked over to the nearest terminal, brought up a map of the _Excalibur_ ’s layout, then started walking towards sickbay.

He remembered the tiny woman with her mass of shiny dark hair, but he hadn't known that she'd come to Saketh with Kroth. Bones had explained how Spock had suffered more due to his telepathy, so if his wife had been in the Katric Ark too, she would’ve suffered equally. 

Jim quickened his pace. When he arrived he scanned the room for Spock. At the back of the L-shaped sickbay he found him sitting next to a bed, hunched over his wife’s form, one hand on her face. Opposite him on the other side of the bed was another Vulcan in a similar position. Doctors and nurses circled the scene, waving their tricorders and medical scanners over the three figures. 

“She didn’t enter a healing trance,” someone said, stepping next to him. 

It was Patel’s first officer, Isabaev. “It’s something Vulcans can apparently do to repair serious damage that even our modern medicine can’t get a grip on.”

“How long have they been trying?” Jim whispered. 

He knew from Chapel that Bones hadn’t slept until he’d been able to stabilize Spock enough to allow his body to take over and enter the trance—it had been important to get him into one as soon as possible, she’d explained.

“Ever since she arrived,” Isabaev replied. “They failed and had just given up when Spock was released by your Doctor McCoy and came straight here. As her, um, husband?” 

Her eyes searched his face, but he didn’t care to explain anything to her right now. 

“Well, um, yeah,” she continued, “they thought it was worth another attempt, since apparently they have a special telepathic connection.” Isabaev closed her eyes. “She’ll die if she doesn’t enter one soon. Her brain was too badly damaged.”

Jim swallowed. “I understand,” he rasped. 

“How’re you?” she asked. “The surviving pirates here have brain injuries that are about as bad as yours; though the severity varies with species of course, but the human ones… .” She looked him up and down. “I was here when they woke up. One of them described it as having ‘half-died’.”

“It’s not a bad description,” Jim said softly, but didn’t go into more detail. 

They watched the scene a while longer in silence. 

“I’m better now, though, thank you,” he said eventually. “Will you let me know if she survives?”

Isabaev nodded. “Of course, Captain.”

With a nod and the smallest of bows in her direction, Jim retreated from the scene. He wanted to get as far away as possible, as guilt at his own reaction to all this wrapped itself tightly around his insides. In his mind’s eye he saw her, coming out of a shop smiling, laden down with her new purchases. On the pirate base she’d seemed to be nothing more than an innocent civilian; she didn’t deserve this horrible fate she’d been caught up in. For that alone he should be hoping for her survival. 

But that wasn’t the thought that was foremost in his mind; no, his reasons were more selfish. In order to survive their time of mating Vulcans needed to be bonded telepathically to their partner—and there was no way in hell he was letting anyone, not even Spock, near his mind. So she had to survive! Just the thought of someone entering his mind telepathically caused his heart to race. 

He reached out to steady himself on a nearby medical cart. 

“Are you alright?” a nurse said, rushing over. 

“I’m fine,” Jim waved him away. 

“You’re hands are shaking, sir.”

“I’m okay,” he repeated more forcefully and stood up. 

One foot in front of the other; don’t sway, he repeated to himself until he got to the door. At that point he didn’t care if the nurse was still watching him or not, and increased his pace, causing him to trip as he burst out into the corridor. Luck wasn’t on his side; he collided with Patel, who’d been about to enter. 

“Captain Kirk, are you alright?”

Jim wiped the sheen off his brow and pulled his shoulders back. “Yes, it was just a bit warm in there. That’s all.”

He knew Patel wouldn’t buy that, but he fixed the other Captain with an ‘I dare you to press the issue’ glare. 

“So …,” Patel shook his head slightly. “Well, I’ll be going down to the planet tomorrow, zero eight hundred hours, so the Vulcan scientists can see it first-hand. I think you should be present too. It seems you had good reason to charge into the Katric Ark the way you did.” Patel bit his lip. “And I also heard just now that you’re planning on spending your recovery period on Saketh.”

Jim nodded. “I’ll be there. Just send me the co-ordinates. Captain.” 

He inclined his head and walked away, but it was a battle to stay upright as his heart was still running a marathon in his chest. It’s okay, he repeated over and over, no one’s ever going to get into your mind again.

***

The next morning, as Jim was getting ready to head down to Saketh to meet with Patel and the Vulcan delegation, he finally received a message from Isabaev—Spock’s wife had passed away. 

Jim walked to the transporter room, his senses numb to the bright lights of the corridors and the sound of crewmen greeting him. When he finally materialized on Saketh it was on the beach that they’d first beamed down to. Captain Patel and Spock were talking to the Vulcan scientists by the bank of blue flowers that had first caught Spock’s attention. 

“And once again, I assure you: the pirate threat has been neutralized,” he heard Patel say.

Jim started walking towards them. He could see that the smile on Patel’s face was fake as the man looked beseechingly at Spock. 

“Ah, Captain Kirk,” Patel exclaimed. “I’m glad you were able to join us.”

Damn, why didn’t his fingers do what he told them to? Jim looked at them sternly and tried to get them to form the Vulcan salute. It shouldn’t be this hard! 

He gave up. “Well, I’ll have time to practice.”

The Vulcans returned the gesture with ease; then Sklek addressed Spock. 

“So the pirate threat is eliminated?”

“That posed by this group of organized pirates is, yes,” Spock answered.

“But there might be other pirates—unorganized ones?”

“Affirmative.”

Patel turned his eyes on Jim. ‘Help’, he mouthed. Jim simply shrugged. Then he took pity on Patel though and stepped over to him. 

“I’m pretty sure they’ve already decided to colonize Saketh, whatever the risks,” Jim whispered, holding a hand in front of his mouth to shield the sound from the sensitive Vulcans ears, although he knew they’d probably still hear him.

“So I’ve heard. But what if they change their mind after they read the reports in full?”

“I think Spock has already filled them in on everything that’s relevant.”

Jim took a step back to study Patel. He was suddenly struck by a memory. A few months ago he’d walked past a mirror in the gym and caught a glimpse of his reflection—what he’d seen then had been a man whose guilt and worry was visible in the lines around his eyes and in the slight slump of his shoulders, just as was the case with Patel now.

“We will visit the underground city next,” Patel announced.

“I am afraid I will not be accompanying you then,” Spock said, bowing his head in an apologetic gesture. “I must meditate first, before I enter there again.”

“Understood,” Sklek replied. “We ourselves have meditated extensively in preparation so that we will not be afflicted as you have been.”

“I think I’ll give it a miss too,” Jim said to Patel and the captain nodded in understanding. 

As the delegation walked towards a shuttle that was a fair distance away along the beach, Spock took his place at Jim’s side. The other Vulcans were not far enough away yet for Jim to bring up all the things that he wanted to talk about, or to ask Spock how he was feeling about his wife’s death. He searched for something else to say.

“So, ‘afflicted’? Like what happened to you the first time you went into the mountain?”

Spock nodded. “I do not believe the Katra’s influence is confined to Vulcans, but yes, that is what he was talking of. It is something that had never happened to me before in the Katric Ark on Vulcan. However, I realize now that this ark is dominated by some very powerful spirits from before Surak’s time. I believe it is also their presence that may have set off the burning of my blood, which I had not experienced since I was seventeen.”

Jim watched as Patel and the Vulcan delegation got into the shuttle. When they had taken off he reached out for Spock’s hand and entwined their fingers. Gently, he pulled Spock along the path they had first taken when they’d arrived on Saketh. Spock followed easily. Soon they were in front of the first inscriptions they’d come across.

“Do you remember the sunrise?” Jim asked, turning around, so he could see the small valley and estuary beyond.

They were still holding hands. 

Spock squeezed tighter. “The odds were against us both surviving to be able to stand here again. I am learning that when I am with you, such odds do not mean very much.”

Jim grinned in response. “I do my best.”

Then he turned to Spock, his face more serious and finally looked into the brown eyes.

“How are you? Isabaev told me your wife died. What was her name?”

“T’Gallachea. The likelihood of any Vulcanoid withstanding such a telepathic storm were marginal at best unless able to enter a trance within the first thirty-two hours.” He paused for a moment. “How are you coping with the brain damage?”

Spock hadn’t answered the question, but then he had asked him how he was feeling; the Vulcan was probably suppressing the hell out of his emotions just now. He’d have to be careful not to annoy him; he didn’t want to push Spock over the edge.

“I won’t lie. It’s been terrifying. And depending what indictors we use to assess my memory loss… it looks like I might still be missing between fifteen and thirty-five percent of my autobiographical memories. I’m unlikely to ever get them back. But Bones has managed find out about some new therapies and if they go well, I might be able to recover from this; at least get my brain running smoothly again. I’m sure you know all this already, but I’ve been thinking that I’ll stay on Saketh and make myself useful here while you take care of the ship until I’m back.”

They didn’t say anything for a while as they looked out into the valley together, each of them lost in their own thoughts. 

Jim knew he’d need the next few months to seriously think about this relationship. They’d been friends, close friends, so he knew that he was very important to Spock; but that thought was only a small consolation considering how he’d ended up hanging his heart out on the line here. Spock had just admitted that the Katras in the Ark had set off the burning in his blood—and when had they first kissed? Exactly after Spock had first been exposed to them. Not before. 

He’d wait and see how things were between them when Spock’s hormones had calmed down; away from the Ark, away from analyzing any stones brought back to the ship from it… away from Saketh. If this relationship didn’t last then the very least he wanted to gain from it was a closer friendship with Spock.

“I’m sorry about the way in which I stopped the inquest-,” Jim said then halted himself when he saw anger flash across Spock’s face, which had been perfectly composed until then. 

Quickly he took a step back. 

Spock rounded on him though. “Jim, she was an innocent civilian. It’s my fault she was brought into this and died!” 

Oh. Jim willed his heart to calm its beating again. He should’ve realized that after all that had happened in the last few hours that Spock’s mind would currently be occupied by more important things than how his lover had stopped some inquest.

“I’m sorry, Spock.” And Jim was. “I can imagine how guilty you must be feeling, but it wasn’t your fault. It was Kroth’s.”

He watched on as the alien boxed away his emotions again, burying them deep inside.

“I’m not going to stay on the _Enterprise_. It’s not that I want to leave you alone during all this, but I don’t think I can stay aboard while on leave. It just won’t work.” He reached out to squeeze Spock’s shoulders. “But I’ll be just a call away. Always. I love you.” 

Jim choked out the last three words. 

Spock caught his lips in a kiss, but he didn’t return those three small words; Jim hoped the Vulcan didn’t notice the tension in his muscles, especially those in his back, that this one-sided profession of his feelings had caused in him.

***

Jim arrived in the rec room slightly out of breath. He hadn’t meant to keep Bones waiting, not after the argument his friend had just had with his ex-wife. But he’d been worrying unnecessarily that Bones would be on his own; already Chekov and Uhura were sitting next to him. 

Uhura was gently rubbing his friend’s back, as Jim took a seat opposite them at the table.

“How does zis make you feel?” Chekov asked.

“Sometimes it makes me wish I’d never been born, as then I wouldn’t’ve had to deal with any of this,” Bones said, the honesty in the statement painful to listen to.

Jim saw understanding in the young ensign’s eyes and was struck by how much the young man had grown up. Chekov was no longer the innocent Russian whiz kid he’d been at the Academy. 

“Thanks for listening,” Bones said, smiling weakly.

“How are you, Bones?” Jim asked.

“I feel a hell of a lot better now. Thanks for being there for me, guys. This really helps a lot.”

Jim studied him carefully, but despite his friend’s admission, he looked aright. A memory tickled his consciousness. Something Bones had said, something like ‘you learn to live with it, or you don’t graduate from med school’. That had almost certainly been in reference to the death of patients, but still, the sentence resonated with him—because this here, right now, was Bones dealing with all the shit that came his way. 

He wanted to hug Bones—and Uhura and Chekov for being there for him. But he didn’t; he did put on a big smile for them though. It would have to be enough.

***

“Captain, may I speak to you in private for a moment?” Spock asked, his eyes following a crewman just passing them in the otherwise empty corridor.

“Yeah, sure,” Jim answered. “Now’s a good time. We’ve just finished transporting down some tents and temporary lab units-.”

Spock didn’t let him finish. The minute the crewman disappeared around a bend he pulled Jim into one of the small, unoccupied science labs nearby. Then he activated the lock on the door.

Jim grinned. “Hey, you lied! You don’t plan on talking to me, do you?”

His lover narrowed his eyes and pressed Jim up against the nearest bulkhead. A frantic quarter of an hour later Spock left the science lab looking as impeccable as ever; Jim was a shivering mess of disheveled hair and clothing though. While he was trying to work out the quickest path from this section to his quarters so he could warm up under a thick blanket, Uhura passed them on the way to her quarters. She greeted them, but he could feel the concern in her eyes boring into the back of his skull until they reached the turbolift. When they were in it, Jim pressed the manual override to bring it to a halt. 

“Jim? Are you alright? Should I call for Doctor McCoy?”

“Huh. No. Our love making session was just a little chilling, that’s all,” he said, narrowing his eyes slightly.

He shouldn’t be angry at Spock. It wasn’t his fault that the onslaught of the Katras had left his blood burning stronger than ever, and he did want to help him out … but that was the crux of the problem: he couldn’t turn Spock down knowing how much the guy would suffer if he did. But he also wondered if they’d even be in a relationship at all if it weren’t for crazy Vulcan hormones. 

“Is that all you wanted to tell me?” Spock asked.

Jim slouched back against the turbo-lift wall. “I’m vacating my quarters tomorrow. You’re free to move into them if you like—I’ll leave my command shirts hanging in the wardrobe for you. Don’t worry though, you can get hold of me any time until the _Enterprise_ breaks orbit.”

“Vulcans do not worry.”

“No, ‘course not. Wish I could be like you and not deal with this kind of shit.”

“You are referring to your emotions?”

Jim re-engaged the turbo-lift controls. This conversation wasn’t going anywhere. When they got to deck six and the doors opened Spock placed a hand lightly on Jim’s chest.

“Yes, Spock?”

“How do you usually deal with your emotions?”

Jim sighed. “Go look after the ship. I’ll look after myself.”

Spock slowly dropped his hand, letting it brush Jim’s civilian shirt on its way down, before pressing his fore- and middle-finger against his lover’s.

Once the doors had closed behind Spock, Jim stared at them. “Go look after your ship,” he whispered. 

A few seconds later the computer prompted him for a destination. 

_You either learn to deal or… ._

He’d never thought such statements applied to Captain James T. Kirk, but maybe it was time to admit that they did. 

To be continued...


	34. chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos recently to remind me to update! Been a bit stressed with work lately I'm afraid.

Jim hurried through the corridor towards the door, but once he reached it he paused to try and straighten out his hair a bit. Spock could kill him later for this.

“Lieutenant Uhura?” he asked as he pressed the chime.

The door opened. 

“Captain? Is everything all right?” 

“Um. Could I come in?”

“Of course.” She quickly stepped out of the way to allow him in.

“Would you like to sit down?” she asked when he didn’t say anything. 

“Ah, I guess that might be best.”

They took a seat on the red lounger in her room. 

“I heard you’ll be staying on Saketh,” she said.

“Yeah. I’ll have my tent set up down there by tomorrow morning at the latest.”

“Kirk?”

“Mh?”

“You’ve never come to talk to me like this before. Somehow I find it hard to believe you couldn’t find anyone else to talk to about tents.” Amusement lit up her eyes. “I’m sure Spock would listen to you if no one else.”

Jim suppressed the urge to wring his hands. “Yeah. Spock.”

She leant forward. “I’m listening.”

Was she expecting to hear how he was worried about crew’s possible reactions to the change in command? How much he’d miss the _Enterprise_? He wasn’t sure. 

“I’m in a relationship with someone.”

“That’s … certainly not what I thought you were going to say. But go on,” she said with a warm smile. 

“I don’t want to just drag you into this. It’s not cleared with the admirals, because I can’t see them approving it. So, I’ll let you decide-.”

“Go on, Kirk!” she laughed. “If anyone knows what it’s like to have to keep a relationship hidden, it’s me.”

“Yeah. Exactly.” He looked down and scratched the nape of his neck. 

No going back now. 

“I’m in a relationship with Spock.”

He didn’t want to meet her eyes, but she’d been silent for too long now. When he sat himself up straight, he saw that she’d closed her eyes and was pinching the bridge of her nose. 

She bit her lip and sighed. “Who else knows? Doctor McCoy? Scotty?” 

Her voice was formal; she was doing an admirable job of staying professional. He couldn’t tell exactly what she was thinking. 

“No. Well, I think Bones knows, but I don’t think I told him. I can’t remember, really. I know he said he didn’t want to know.”

Silence. 

“I guess you want me to leave now?” Jim said eventually.

“How long? Captain. If I may ask? No, sorry, that question was out of line.”

“Um. It’s fine, really. Remember when we discovered the Katric Ark? After that. Well, kind of it. It’s complicated. I’m sorry—I know it’s not been long since you two broke up.”

He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it up again. It was then that Uhura’s neutral façade cracked. 

“It’s been a fair few months,” she said. “I’m just … .”

Jim let her find her composure again. 

“Nothing is ever simple with Spock,” she said softly. 

She let her hands fall to her lap and relaxed her posture. “Believe me, Kirk. Again—I know.”

He knew she did. 

“Can I ask a question in return? It’s incredibly personal, I realize, so feel free to chuck me out. Really, feel free.” He smiled wryly and waited for her to nod before forging on. “Did he ever tell you that he loved you?”

Her eyes opened wide. 

“I’m sorry, Uhura, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Yes,” she said quickly.

Jim fought the feeling of nausea in his stomach. But in an instant Uhura had moved closer and was squeezing his biceps. 

“But only once. In all the time we were a couple, he only told me once. And in the very next sentence he told me that he’d be leaving. He was going to resign his commission to be with the surviving Vulcans.”

"Thank you for sharing that with me, Uhura." 

He took her hand and squeezed it tightly. It was still an awkward atmosphere in the room; how could it not be? 

“I know it’s far from easy, being in love with him,” she whispered. “Spock isn't human. And he never will be.”

Jim nodded. “Yeah, I know that.”

She took a deep breath and stood up. He followed suit. 

“Good luck, Jim.” 

“Thanks. I know I’ll need it. So … it’s ‘Jim’ now, is it? Does that mean I get to call you Ny-?”

“No. It’s Uhura,” she snapped in reply.

He held his hands up and grinned. “Fine, fine. Just asking.”

***

The breeze was crisp and slightly salty that morning, since it was blowing in from the ocean. It had been a nice thing to wake up to, Jim decided as he surveyed the map in his hands. The base camp as well as those places where they could safely camp were marked out by the red dots, which were spread far and wide on this peninsular. That would mean a lot of hiking as the terrain wasn’t suitable to land a shuttle craft on. The only shuttle they had would be parked at base and only used in emergencies (or when Jim wanted to practice flying, something he was looking forward to a lot). 

Ensign Li approached him holding a PADD. “Captain, there’s a message for you.”

“Let’s see it, then.”

It was from Doctor Sargoni, congratulating him on securing a planet for the Vulcans and asking him a few general questions about Saketh. Jim grinned. He wrote a few quick lines about the climate and the plants, adding that he looked forward to meeting him in person when he arrived on Saketh where he’d be able to put his services to use caring for all the Vulcans, both female and male. There was a lot more he wanted to say of course, to tell him about the stones, but he was sure Sargoni would hear soon enough. 

Li took the PADD off him again and left with a quick salute, which made Jim smile. He walked in the opposite direction to her, back to base, where he spent the next hour rechecking the food supplies and making sure they had everything else they might possibly need. Apart from himself and five of the Vulcan scientists, two geologists from the _Excalibur_ would also be staying on the planet. 

They had enough materials to build a few more structures, should they find the time. Mostly they’d be hiking, setting up their tents, collecting samples and taking them back to base to analyse until the first supply ships arrived. He was interrupted in his musings when he heard the angry voice of his doctor.

“Jim! You’re not meant to be stressing yourself out organizing this! If this is how you’re going to act, I’m going to order your ass back onboard.”

“Hi Bones, good morning to you too.”

When Bones saw the huge grin that was plastered across his patient’s face, he stopped. 

“Sorry, what were you saying, Bones? Something about me being stressed?”

“Well,” Bones grumped, but Jim’s relaxed posture and easy good mood had taken the wind out of his sails, “you’re normally tightly wound when you’re organizing a mission. Hmmm. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself here though.”

Jim laughed. “Thanks Bones. Was I such a terrible captain?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I’ve been feeling a lot better the past few days,” Jim said. 

“Yeah, you look a lot better too. And you’ve only spent three nights here! Jim, we head off on a new assignment tomorrow. One last check up? I want to go over the treatment plan with you again, and also make sure Lieutenant Grey hasn’t forgotten how to administer your medication—just in case you can’t….”

“It’ll be fine, Bones.”

“I know kid. Don’t know how you’re going to stay sane living with these Vulcans though, but it was your choice.” His friend smiled at him fondly as they sat down on some metal crates to talk.

***

Spock stood up from the Vulcan meditation mat on his floor and pulled Jim up with him, their hands still clasped. The kiss Spock gave him then was the most passionate Jim had ever received from him—clearly his lover wanted to make the most of their last night together. Spock sucked on his lips, biting the lower one, and placing an arm around Jim’s waist, pressing their groins together. 

The kiss ended and Jim put his arms around Spock’s neck. “Now that’s something I could get used to.”

Jim kissed his way from Spock’s ear down to his neck, tasting the soft skin there, searching for those places he thought might be most sensitive. He ran his teeth over those areas—no reaction.

“It is really logical to control your body at all times?” Jim asked.

“It is.”

“I thought you might say that,” Jim said, smiling all the same.

“But you desire to know how you affect me?”

“I’ll live,” Jim said and planted another kiss on Spock’s neck.

He then leant back and grinned at Spock. “You have to control yourself, don’t you?”

Spock nodded.

“That’s not uncomfortable, is it?”

“There is no need to be concerned, Jim. I am perfectly used to suppressing my emotions and controlling my body. You touching me does not cause me additional discomfort.”

Something about what Spock had said was setting off alarm bells. Jim pulled back quickly, leaving his hands on Spock’s shoulders though. 

“I always thought it was easy for Vulcans to control themselves.” He gave Spock a hard, measuring stare.

“It is for Vulcans.”

Jim silently regarded his half-human lover for a while. “Do the good days outweigh the bad days?”

“It is illogical to think of life in such a way.”

That was a ‘no’; he knew it was. Something of his disappointment at this revelation about Spock’s lack of happiness in his life must have shown on his features for Spock kissed him again.

“We have talked long enough,” Spock said in a low tone.

He gave wry chuckle. “Yeah, sex. What are you going to do when I’m not here?”

“You are here tonight—that will have to suffice.”

Jim extracted himself from the embrace. “Well what if it isn’t enough … , I don’t want you being distracted on the bridge, so I want you to promise me-.”

“Jim-.”

“No, don’t stop me. You don’t know what it’ll be like once I’m not here anymore. If you need any more ‘help’, Spock, please, go ahead. I wouldn’t want you to suffer. Just try to stay away from the crew, ey? Hopefully you’ll get given some diplomatic assignments … .”

“Stop. Jim. Please.” 

Spock extended two fingers. Jim sighed, but he pressed his own to Spock’s. 

“Being with you is of course my preferred way of dealing with my problem, but if any issues should arise in your absence,” his lover said firmly, “then I will be sure to seek out Doctor McCoy. Although I believe I will find his healing hands to be a poor substitute for yours.”

Ha, Jim thought, that will make Bones happy, having to deal with Spock’s raging hardons—not. Although, … no, just don’t let your mind go there or neither of them will ever forgive you. And right, yeah, sex. 

He didn’t know how he’d get it up now, but he couldn’t deny Spock when he clearly needed this. And he’d probably find his appetite for sex again soon; like, as soon as Spock took off his shirt. With that mental image in mind he grabbed his lover’s wrist to draw him towards the bedroom.

***

It was very early in the morning, but there was still one person he had to see before he left the _Enterprise_ : Bones. 

Sickbay was quiet, the monitors made only the occasional beep to let everyone know they were still functioning in case there was an emergency. And in space the next one was always around the corner.

“Only for you, kid, would I ever get out of bed and raise a glass of Scotty’s finest this early in the morning! Cheers,” Bones said, “to the new Vulcan homeworld—Saketh! A blasted waterworld in the middle of a lawless sector!”

Jim grinned, took his glass and downed it. “Hey, it’s water!”

“Yup! You’re on medication. So let this be a reminder to you not to touch any alcohol.”

“I’m pretty sure none was included in any of our supply crates. Spock probably made sure of that.” Jim chuckled.

“Feel free to tell me to shut the fuck up by the way,” Bones said, “but I’m curious. I can’t help but notice you’re still sleeping with someone… .”

“You still haven’t told me, how do you kn-?”

Bones raised a hand. “Doesn’t the girl get jealous of how close you and Spock are?”

He was studying him closely. Jim decided to be a little Vulcan. He couldn’t raise an eyebrow menacingly, but he did know how to glare.

“That’s a ‘shut up’, I take it?” Bones said.

“Yup,” Jim replied. “Though I know it won’t actually work on you.”

“Well, I pity the gossiping crewmembers it might be aimed at one day. Here’s to discretion. I think we should drink to that too,” Bones said.

***

It had been odd staring at the small screen in the temporary lab, seeing Spock sitting in the captain’s chair, wearing a gold shirt—one of his, he was sure. Now they’d said their farewells and the _Enterprise_ had gone to warp. She was probably already approaching the edge of this sector. 

He kicked some pebbles from the dirt path on the way to his tent. Inside it was a crate with a PADD on top. Whoever’d thought that beaming a crate directly into his personal tent was the idea of the century was going have their ear chewed off when he got the _Enterprise_ back. He’d have to disassemble half the tiny tent to get it out!

The PADD blinked—one unread message. 

_Dear Jim,_

_Please find uploaded onto this PADD the annotated lecture notes of all the courses I attended at the Academy. I hope you find them useful._

_I will be sending you regular updates on the happenings onboard the ship. Enclosed in the case are various gifts from your friends. I hope you enjoy them._

_Yours,_

_Spock_

The items inside the crate were carefully laid out on top of a bright blue science shirt. A small lump formed in Jim’s throat as he pulled it out, making sure the other items weren’t damaged. He held onto it tightly with one hand as he took out the other gifts one at a time. 

There was a bottle filled to the brim with a clear liquid. A handwritten note attached to it read: ‘Doctor McCoy said you’d already lost enough brain cells, but I reckon what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. Scotty.’ Then next there were some pruning shears, a knife, and a pair of scissors; clearly from Sulu. Those would come in useful on Saketh. Uhura’s present to him was a book printed on paper, much thumbed through, with creased pages and notes in the margins—‘Basic Vulcan Grammar and Vocabulary’. 

When he pulled out a bottle of sky-blue liquid he felt his stomach protest; the last time he’d encountered this stuff was in Vig’s and Isamb’s lovely company. He read the note from Bones that came with it. ‘So here’s the rest of that blue stuff. This is so you’ve got something to offer those Vulcans when you get bored of discussing the many wonderful applications of pure logic.’

So that left a tritanium spanner, the thickets safety gloves he’d ever seen, and a vial of something luminescent yellow. What the hell were these for? If that yellow stuff was what he thought it was, then you’d have to be mad to want to deal with it, although it would explain the gloves. 

He put the vial down quickly; it couldn’t be anything else. And there was only one person this could’ve come from—Chekov. Well, modifying the shuttle’s engines would make sure that he did test his engineering skills to the maximum and would make learning to pilot the small craft more fun, he couldn’t deny that. 

When Jim stepped out of his tent, armed with a tricorder, ready to explore Saketh’s wilderness, he felt warm and fuzzy all over. Warm, mostly because he was now wearing an additional layer of clothing—the blue science shirt felt soft against his skin.

To be continued...


	35. chapter 35

“Tareq, hand me that cloth,” Jim asked as he knelt down next to the slightly raised Sakethan structure which stretched all the way down the valley in a straight line.

Without looking over his shoulder he knew when to reach back to take the cloth; in the couple of weeks he’d worked alongside the _Excalibur’s_ botanist a certain familiarity had emerged between them. Jim could not say the same of himself and the Vulcan geologist Surik, who was standing a few feet away from both of them and was scanning the structure with a tricorder.

Tareq squatted down next to Jim. “Why didn’t your crew finish the job of laying this structure completely bare of earth?”

“Well, I guess as soon as they worked out that this was just another one of those black stone monuments they decided that there were far more important things to do than to finish this off.”

Jim wiped the dirt from the stone with the damp cloth revealing the smooth black surface beneath. His crew had already removed all but a thin layer of dirt from the whole structure, so they had mostly finished the job. But only in one small area had they polished the monument, leaving the rest as it was.

“Surik? Any ideas on what this might’ve been?”

The Vulcan was either too absorbed in the tricorder’s readouts or was purposefully ignoring him, so Jim turned his attention back to the smooth surface. He could almost see his reflection in it—hard to believe that it could've survived this unscathed from the elements if it had been exposed to them uncared for. Perhaps the Sakethans had buried it to preserve it in the dying days of their culture. But why? He pulled out a PADD from his bag.

Next to him Tareq sighed. “I don’t mean to be pessimistic here, but the more I look at it, the more I have to agree with your crew. There’s nothing more to discover here.”

Jim skimmed the report on the PADD which read like most other reports on Sakethan black stone monuments. They were constructed during the time of Vulcan colonization; there was no indication that any other alien race may have built them. They extended deep into the ground, all the way to the bedrock. Most of them were, like this one, some kind of walkway or plaza, though they’d also come across some ruined building made of this native stone. He placed his palm to the smooth surface; it was as cold as the rock on which Spock and him had found the first inscriptions and was made out of the same material, too.

“Surik, this still looks like some kind of high road to me, raised so the water will run off it. We’re talking about pre-Surakian Vulcans here, so maybe there just isn't any logic to it? They may have built it this way simply to show off craftsmanship.”

“The road doesn’t go anywhere though,” Tareq said. “It just starts at a cliff face and then falls down to sea level here.”

Jim got up, strode over to Surik and looked over his shoulder at the readouts. “Have you seen anything like this before?”

He didn’t want to add the last two words that would complete his sentence: ‘on Vulcan’. It wasn’t that he had a problem talking about Vulcan, but whenever he got close to bringing up Surik’s former homeworld, every instinct he had told him not to. The vibes the alien scientist gave off where very clear on that.

Surik turned off the tricorder. “I do not know what it is and have never encountered a structure like it. I also do not share your human propensity to ‘guess’ when there is insufficient data available.”

“You wanted it cleaned up, didn’t you?” Jim furrowed his brow.

“Once all the soil is removed from the monument the significance that it had to the Sakethans may reveal itself to us.”

Then, without a further word of explanation, Surik turned and left, leaving the two humans by the roadside.

“I guess he’s gone to look for Vervak? I’m sure he’ll come back to help,” Jim said, but his voice was lacking any real conviction. “Well, better get started now!”

Tareq and Jim cleared the dirt from the edge of the road first before moving on to the center. It was an oddly satisfying job, Jim thought, giving the stone back its polish. There was a depth to the blackness of the material that reminded him of space. He put his cloth to work furiously, the movements of his hand becoming ever more vigorous and more energetic, moving faster and faster, concentrating on nothing else but the immeasurable darkness that lay just beneath the reflective surface.

“Jim!” Tareq shouted.

Jim snapped his head up, but Tareq wasn’t on the road anymore, instead Jim found him standing to one side of it. He was gesturing wildly for Jim to join him.

“Get off it!” he shouted.

Jim turned his attention to the stone again. Was he just imagining it or was it … pulsing with energy? He shook his head. No, nothing there. But he’d felt something, hadn’t he? He crawled back off the road.

“Maybe we’ll finish that another time, eh?” he mumbled.

Tareq shook his head. “To hell with that. Let Surik do it all, if he really wants to.”

The botanist’s words were softened by a tremor in his voice. The man was scared, Jim decided.

“We’ll talk about it later once we’re back at the camp,” he said and led Tareq away, back up the valley.

On the way to their camp Jim spotted all three of their Vulcan companions, scrubbing the road near to the rock face with the inscriptions.

***

It had taken the Vulcans only two days to clear the whole structure, but they’d not done anything apart from clean. When Jim spotted Surik pack his bag for yet another cleaning expedition rather than a botanical one, he confronted him.

“I thought we’d agreed that all of us would continue with the work plan; we’re already behind schedule now.”

“Your inflexibility is illogical,” Surik countered.

“Where are you even going? Don’t you think you should tell us?”

“We’ll be clearing the other structures over to the west of the river. It is imperative to gather more data.”

“What do you mean, ‘we’?”

At this Vervak and Shonn picked up their own bags and started to walk away from the camp. Without even as much as a nod Surik turned away from Jim, as if he were bored of his company, and set off to follow them.

“Should we go after them?” Rick, the geologist, asked.

Tareq shook his head. “Well, you’d need ten Andromeda class tug vessels to get me near another one of those Sakethan monuments. Besides, the Captain’s right: we’re going to get behind on our work plan if we don’t stick to it. The plant life here won’t categorize itself.”

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Rick, you’ll help us with the botanical work again today. Don’t want you working on your own.”

***

It was late by the time they got back to their camp that night as the work had taken longer with only the three of them to do it. The Vulcans were already having dinner and so they sat down to join them.

“Didn’t you make us anything to eat?” Tareq growled.

“It would appear not,” Surik said. “There are ration packs in that crate. It does not take long to prepare one. Surely you can manage that yourself?”

Jim saw Tareq’s blood pressure rising as the dark flush on the man's face deepened.

“Right, yes,” Jim said, standing up. “It’s an easy task that won’t take a few minutes. We’ll see to it ourselves.”

It was rude that they hadn’t thought to make food for them as well, but they probably thought it was illogical or something. Jim took some of the ration packs and prepared them as everyone sat in silence.

After dinner he retreated to his tent, filled the hypospray with the clear solution as Bones had instructed him to, and injected himself with it. He followed up on that shot with an hour of mental exercises. It was tiring to keep up his concentration for that long, and he yawned. He reached for his communicator.

“James Kirk’s personal log, supplemental. I can really feel the affect of the drugs. They’re definitely starting to work. My mind has been clearer and more focused these last few days than it has been in a long time.”

Closing his communicator he lay back on his sleeping bag and stared at the synthetic fiber ceiling. The first ship was arriving tomorrow and not a second too soon. The split between the humans and Vulcans in the camp was slowly reaching toxic levels. Maybe they’d just spent too long together irritating each other with foreign customs and manners.

The ship would bring with them three thousand Vulcans, including the elders as far as he was aware. Communication with Saketh wasn’t easy, there was no subspace relay station nearby, so the messages they’d been able to send and receive had been limited to short lines of text. So the arrival of the USS _Valiant_ also represented his first opportunity to exchange messages with the _Enterprise_. He’d already pre-recorded videos for everyone apart from Spock. That was the one he’d been putting off.

He took his PADD and played back his personal log entry, the one which he knew off by heart by now—the one in which he told of the promise he’d made to Spock to stick by him despite the Vulcan’s profession that he felt nothing in return for Jim. He knew that Captain James T. Kirk had been capable of being a real stubborn bastard, but how could he have set his mind on something so hopeless and painful? Whatever the man he used to be had wanted, it was time he found his own way. A humorless smile crept over his face; it was indeed the only way he’d ever get to be Captain James T. Kirk again.

“Start recording.”

***

The corridors of USS _Valiant_ were busy with crewmen and construction workers making their way towards the shuttle bay. There was a lot to get done, Jim knew. The flat-pack temporary buildings and the tents--they all had to be set up before they could begin shuttling the thousands of Vulcans from their cramped quarters on the _Valiant_ down onto the planet. Jim stopped a Lieutenant who was hurrying through the throng of people.

“Sorry to stop you, but this is deck thirty-eight, isn’t it? There’s meant to be a communications station here that I can use.”

“Um,” the lieutenant strained to look over Jim’s shoulder, clearly not recognizing that Jim was even Starfleet since he wasn’t wearing a uniform and, Jim had to admit, was looking rather scruffy.

“Lieutenant,” he said firmly.

The man looked confused for an instant. “Right, this way.”

Jim followed him to the Communications' department, where he was led to a public terminal. If he really wanted he was sure he could simply ask Captain Huxley for something better. She’d probably insist he use the one in ship’s main conference room. 

With a sigh he sat down at the terminal and grabbed an earpiece. This would do. He typed in his codes to bring up all the messages the _Valiant_ was carrying for him. There was one from Bones and he chose to listen to it first.

“Hey Jim, how’re you? I got your short messages that everything was good, but tell me more ….”

His friend talked about Jim’s therapy; how well the study in general was going, that he hoped Jim was doing well on the drug. Well, Bones would not be disappointed with the reply he’d pre-recorded. He’d anticipated most of his friend’s medical questions.

“… can’t wait to have you back in the Captain’s seat again. No disrespect to Spock, but he’s not a leader like you are, Jim. Not at all.”

Spock’s message was next in line, but Jim went through all the others first before finally putting that video message on screen.

It started rather awkwardly, with Spock asking questions as if he were reading them off a list that he’d propped up somewhere just out of view of the screen; and maybe he was doing just that. ‘How are you feeling? Do you like Saketh?’ Those questions didn’t roll of Spock’s tongue fluidly. When he started reporting on ship’s business he looked far more at ease. Spock's comfortable stance stiffened again as he fell silent. Then he formed the Vulcan salute and pressed his whole hand onto the screen.

"Live long and prosper, Jim."

Spock slowly peeled his hand away again, his index and middle finger lingering on the screen just a few heartbeats longer than the other digits.

Jim chewed his lower lip. He’d find Spock’s message kind of cute as it seemed he had prepared for it and really, he felt sorry for dumping anyone via a subspace message, but him and Spock were not on the same page when it came to this relationship. The air around him felt too hot and stuffy as he fumbled with the collar of his long sleeved tee. Best not to think about it, he thought. He sent the messages; all of them. Hopefully this would allow him and Spock to return to their arguably more fulfilling friendship. He stood up. Having made the decision and followed through on it, he felt one step closer towards being Captain James T. Kirk again.

***

“Spock!” Jim exclaimed, as he exited the _Valiant’s_ sickbay and spotted the Vulcan walking around a corner in the corridor. 

“Hello, old friend,” the future version of his …, of the younger Spock in this universe, said.

Jim recovered quickly and grinned broadly. “So you arrived here with the elders?”

“Indeed. How are you, Jim? I was informed you had suffered brain damage due to the Sakethan Katras, so I came to visit you in sickbay. I see your check-up is already over?”

Jim nodded. “I’m doing better than expected already! The drugs are definitely helping and I’ve been doing at least double the amount of mental exercises the doctors prescribed.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” 

There was a warmth in the Vulcan’s gravelly voice that moved Jim to stand closer to him as they walked, their steps perfectly in synch, towards the transporter room.

“Yeah, I’m getting my brain back slowly,” he said, “if not my memories, and I’m starting to feel a lot more like myself. The admiralty thinks I’ll be here for months, but you wait and see, Spock, I want my ship back, and I’ll get her back early!”

Next to him the edges of Spock’s mouth curled up slightly.

To be continued...


	36. chapter 36

As Jim stepped into the cold air inside the mountain a few hectic days later he couldn’t believe he was actually doing this—going back to this god-awful place. He had to close his eyes to walk on, one hand trailing the side of wall; had to imagine he was somewhere else, because every muscle fiber he had was telling him to get the hell out of here. There was no way he was going to run back out of the mountain city though, because if it did everyone would see it: the elders, Spock, Captain Huxley. He couldn’t lose face in front of them and this was an important ceremony. And so he walked on, trying to remind himself that he was ‘honored’ to attend. His heart was racing as each one of his strides took him deeper into the heart of the mountain. 

Jim stopped and leant against the wall for support; he was feeling dizzy. A firm hand grasped his shoulder to steady him. When he looked up he saw that the Vulcan elders had already passed him. None of them glanced his way, which might normally have bothered him, but right now it was exactly what he wanted. Captain Huxely stopped and looked concerned, but Jim waved her on and thankfully she went.

After a few minutes he was feeling stronger on his legs again.

“Jim, old friend, take your time,” Spock said as if sensing that Jim had been about to suggest they walk on. “We can catch up with them easily when you’re feeling better.”

“Thanks.” 

He truly was grateful; and he also didn’t mind Spock seeing him like this. When they started their journey to the Katric Ark again, Jim found that he still needed to distract himself in some way, but all there was to look at in the passageway were the walls and the floor. Huh. More walls, more floor. Then again, … .

“Spock, those walls—have you had a chance to go see the black road in the valley yet? That stone looks very similar to this stuff here. These walls are rougher, but they are all somehow… I don’t know how to say it, somehow animated.”

In the reflected glow of the flashlights they were carrying, Spock’s face looked as hard as the walls.

“I don’t know what the function of those stone structures is,” Spock replied, “but it worries me that even you as a non-telepath can feel their strength.”

Jim stopped and reached out to hold onto Spock’s upper arm. “You mean to say, those might be giant tomb stones filled with… Katras?” 

“No, I do not think they are. But that feeling you described, that they are animated, not completely dead, I feel it too.”

With so much on his mind Jim didn’t pay too much attention to his surroundings again until they entered the chamber of frescoes; there were some large dark splatters on the wall that he didn’t remember being there last time. He scanned them with his tricorder. Blood. Human and Vulcan. An awful thought came to his mind and he scanned himself. Yes, it was his blood. He turned his head to check if Spock was looking his way, but he was studiously examining the frescos. Jim took a quick scan—although there wasn’t much that got past that sly man, so he probably did notice—and it revealed that the Vulcan blood was Spock’s.

He wondered why Spock had left out some of the gruesome details of what had occurred here, but maybe Spock didn’t remember it all himself. Jim would have to ask him. The sight of the dark stains on the wall made his hair stand on end and he moved the flashlight away from them. But they’d stirred something inside him, reminders of why he and Spock were friends in the first place. He knew that the bond they shared was a special one: either of them would lay down his own life in an instant to save the other’s. They could rely on each other when the mission got tough. Even on the Narada, when they’d hardly known each other, they’d worked well as a team, with Spock trusting him to keep the enemy at bay as he ransacked an unconscious Romulan’s mind. And just recently as they'd escaped from the pirates, it had only been due to Spock handling the fuel injection manually that they’d gotten away. And he’d started that process before they were close to being blasted by the pirates’ phaser banks, without an order. There weren’t many officers who he’d trust to think and act like that. 

“Jim, we should move on.”

The light fell on the stain one last time—although Jim wasn’t sure exactly what had happened down here, Spock had said he’d taken away Jim’s pain to allow him to carry on, to shoot Kroth. He’d not said if that had been painful, or how much it had cost him, but Spock wouldn’t, would he? And if he’d decided that Jim was in a better position than himself to act, then Spock must have been in far more pain, or at the very least, less mobile. 

“Yes. Coming, Spock.”

Again, Jim noticed how in tune the two of them were; how their footfalls were perfectly in time as they continued on towards the Ark. Did the Vulcan know what he was thinking? Almost certainly, he thought, and that brought a small smile to his face. 

When they reached the Katric Ark the Vulcan elders were already standing in a circle, holding hands and chanting quietly. Around them the tall statues set into the walls loomed tall, while the reddish colored home-stones had been secured with straps on high ledges. Below them some of the stone artifacts they’d taken to the _Enterprise_ for investigation were once more in their rightful place. He studied them now; they were black, but in some places red Vulcan stone had been set into them, giving the particular statue he was looking at now devil red eyes. Maybe they contained powerful and dangerous Katras. Spock had been very badly affected after analyzing them on the ship, he remembered. Badly enough to stir up the burning in this blood to such a level that he thought he was entering Pon Farr. 

“So what happens now?” Jim whispered to Spock. “Have we missed the important part of the ceremony?”

“Not at all. They have yet to release the Katras they’ve been carrying into this Ark. Their role as vessels of the Vulcan culture will come to an end once they do so. I believe my father will be pleased to have his own life back—in recent months he’s had to spend a lot of time in meditation.”

“Yeah, I saw that in the report.”

Spock leant in closer. “That reporter, Lessard, I had hoped that he would show something else. I admit I made an error in judgement in allowing him access to-.”

There were no sparks, no lights, no ghostly apparitions, but Jim’s hair was suddenly standing on end none the less, because there was something in the air, he could feel it. Around him electric fields were increasing in strength. He would have bolted right out of the chamber, onlookers be damned, if it hadn’t been for one thing. In the relative darkness of the underground vault he felt dry fingers running over his wrist; then Spock was holding his hand. Jim checked if Huxley was looking their way, but her eyes were fixed on the Vulcan elders.

Jim’s skin was tingling slightly now. He held on tightly to Spock’s hand. It was the reassurance he needed that despite the obvious electrical disturbances, he’d be fine. Spock wouldn’t keep him here if it was at all dangerous, he knew that.

***

Jim walked along what would be the main street of the new colony. To his left was a hospital that was almost complete. The project had started off as most others, under the joint supervision of the human construction workers and the Vulcans, but soon arguments had flared up and the Vulcans had dropped out. Opposite, the foundations of an elementary school were swamped with water. The Vulcans had taken complete control of that scheme. It was not going to be finished on time. Or ever, unless humans took charge of it, he thought bitterly. It didn’t help that no human actually wanted to be involved in the building of the school as it was designed to form a U-shape around one of the black stone structures that jutted into the main street at that point. The Vulcans had wanted to design as many buildings as possible around the black slabs, though most of them were located amongst the ancient ruins, and those projects would have to wait until a later date to be tackled. 

Jim noted that the black stone in the centre of what might one day be a school had been laid bare and polished; the standard of care given to the monument was clearly higher than that given to the building work around it. 

More encouragingly the nursery next to it was almost complete. Behind schedule, as it was only meant to have taken three weeks to erect, but considering it was a Vulcan led project that wasn’t too bad. 

He turned left off the main street then and into a large tent to get his dinner. The tent was silent, so nothing out of the ordinary there. Just a small amount of noise from the shuffling of feet and the clattering of cutlery, but even those sounds seemed dulled. No one looked up to indicate that they’d noticed him enter. Everyone in the tent was Vulcan—all the other humans had stopped eating here after only two weeks on Saketh.

Jim lifted the lid off each of the industrial sized cooking pots in turn—the food was cold. All of it. There was nobody attending the pots, making more food, or heating up what was already there. He looked around the tent. No one seemed to think this was a problem or if they did, they weren’t going to take charge of the situation. Jim balled his fists. He’d played this exact game twice already this week, getting people organized, but today… today he didn’t care. This wasn’t a situation on the edge of the neutral zone; he could walk away from this. Before he strode out he took one last glance around the tent. Sitting in a corner his gaze finally found Spock; the old Vulcan looked up, saw him, then lowered his eyes again. Even Spock didn’t care about him anymore. He shook his head as he left.

He was still hungry though and in the distance he could hear the sound of laugher and loud voices. It was like sunshine after spending too long underground—it was an amazing sound and he was drawn to it, despite also feeling like he shouldn’t go. It wasn’t right that the humans and Vulcans were separating into camps, he should go back to the Vulcan tent to make a point… continue to eat with the Vulcans… but today, just today, he thought, he couldn’t face dinner with them. 

As he walked into the tent people waved at him and called out his name.

“Hey Jim,” Tareq called out. “Over here! Come sit down!”

He joined Tareq’s table. “This is Chris, Sung Jin and Beatrice. I’ll go get you something to eat. Any preferences?”

“There’s a choice?”

Jeff laughed. “Hell yes! It’s not great, but at least we’ve got a choice of soup.”

Jim grinned. “I’ll have whatever.”

Around him people were laughing and smiling. You didn’t see that normally on Saketh. 

“What’s the occasion, or is there none?” Jim asked Beatrice.

“No occasion. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve just never seen anyone this happy to be on Saketh in a long time."

“Ah, well, it’s hard to be happy when the Vulcans are around, but here it’s just humans. And well, Bal’eia, but she doesn’t count, she’s Orion.” Beatrice giggled. “We can just forget about them and have fun. We didn’t really dare to at first, but then we decided we needed this. We need to live a little to keep our sanity.”

Although Jim could understand the sentiment the smile on his face faded a bit at hearing her words. He was about to reply when Tareq returned with steaming hot soup and a side plate of mashed potatoes and gravy. 

Jim stared at the plate. “Tareq, I could kiss you right now. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen anything other than Starfleet rations or Vulcan porridge?”

Tareq clapped him on the back and sat down next to him. “There’s always extra food for you, Jim, if you want it. But it’s just the powdery potato mash you add hot water too. Still, a taste of home.”

After the meal the warmth of the emotions inside the tent were enough to keep out the chilly Sakethan air as Jim drank a hot coffee (awful coffee, but coffee all the same) with everyone else at the table.

The buzz of conversation washed over and around him as he focused on his drink's pleasant aroma. But something in the conversation was starting to irritate his subconscious. He woke out of his daze and listened in.

“My computer has more emotions… .”

“Worked with them on earth, but now they’re worse—horrible.”

“… pointy eared and lazy… .”

“Gotta go! Gotta also make sure not to explain to the dumb humans why or when… .”

“The temperatures reached so far below freezing in the wintertime where I grew up,” Beatrice was saying, “any water was immediately turned to ice in a nanosecond, and yet there’s even less warmth in the company of those-.”

Jim put his mug down on the table with a thud.

“You’re all talking like those people in that UE News 24 report,” Jim said.

The conversation at the table stopped.

Beatrice’s eyes went wide. “You’re not going to report us to the media or," she creased her brow, "Starfleet, are you?”

“He is Starfleet, Beatrice,” Chris hissed.

They all hung their heads as if they’d just been handed a death sentence.

Jim sighed. “No, I’m not going to report you to anyone. I-.”

Before he could even finish Chris, the young construction worker, cut in. “Ha, so you do understand us!”

“But they lost their planet! What do you want them to do? Celebrate?” Jim snapped.

“They’re being horrible to us,” Chris countered.

The young man was really getting worked up; his jaw was clenched and his face was beginning to flush red. Jim didn’t know if there was even any point in reasoning with him, but he tried anyway.

“They’re not, I don’t think, doing that intentionally. They’re just too wrapped up in their own grief and anger-,” Jim started, but Chris interrupted him again.

“I’m the son of colonists. My entire colony was wiped out in a natural disaster. I’m one of the few survivors.” Now Chris had stood up and the noise in the tent briefly increased as people turned in their seats to watch. “Do you see me being such an ass? No. But remember the first Vulcan colony we tried to set up for them? Vulcans are just ungrateful assholes. End of.”

His declaration was followed by a shocked silence from everyone present and Chris let himself fall back down into his seat, shaking. He hung his head; tears were streaming down his face.

“Damn, I didn’t really mean that,” he choked. 

Chris put his head in his hands and started to sob. Jim stared at him as did everyone else, until someone he didn’t recognize came over, sat down in the chair next to the young man, and put his arm around him.

Then he turned to address Jim. “Are you going to defend the Vulcans or what? They have no empathy with us!”

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Empathy. No, they don’t have any, do they?”

He wondered why he’d not thought about it like that before. Then he stood up. He wanted his voice to project clearly to everyone in the room.

“I see Chris right now and I feel his pain. To a lesser degree than if it were my own. But I feel it, it’s a natural reaction. That’s empathy.” 

He looked around the room, letting his gaze linger on those pairs of eyes in which he saw the most doubt. 

“The Vulcans do have emotions, despite what some of you may have heard. They act on logic though. When an emotion gets in the way of logic, they will suppress that emotion. Being able to suppress emotions is a tool they are used to using, and right now, I believe they are using it all the time. It’s not even been a year since they lost their entire world; only one in every six hundred thousand Vulcans survived—I think if I were them, I’d do the same. But when they shield themselves from their own emotions, they are also shielding themselves from ours. They don’t mean to be ‘assholes’,” he finished his speech quietly, but clearly, walking over now to put a hand on Chris’s shoulder. 

And with that he left the tent without looking back. He knew where he’d be eating tomorrow and that would be with the Vulcans. 

As soon as he was in his own little tent he flopped down onto his sleeping pallet. The worst thing was that, damnit, his own argument failed to convince even him entirely, though he definitely believed what he's explained to Chris was part of the problem. But there was more to it than that, because the Vulcans weren't acting logically either. He was sure they weren't being assholes on purpose; that just couldn't be right. 

_But what if that was what Vulcans were usually like?_ a treacherous voice in mind supplied.

He cut his mental exercises down to only half an hour that night so he could go over some important historical tactics used by various captains during confrontations with the Romulans. When he finally tried to get some rest for the night, he wasn’t able to keep still in his sleeping bag, turning over every couple of minutes. After about an hour of that he gave up and pulled out a box from the corner of his tent. He took out Spock's blue shirt—underneath it was the photo of his father. He stared at it for a few long moments. The cog wheels were turning in his brain. He wasn’t there yet, he knew he was still missing some vital information to understand the Vulcans.

He grabbed a PADD and made a note to check the databases first thing tomorrow; he needed to read up on what had actually happened to the first colony. He remembered as far back as when they were in the Huygens system that the tragedy was being talked about in whispers. But he didn’t remember why it was talked about only in hushed tones, nor what had actually happened there. It was something he could easily look up though. 

To be continued...


	37. chapter 37

The next morning Kirk walked solemnly into the supply tent for breakfast after checking the databases first. He probably needed a wash, but he’d grab some food first as he was already late and didn’t want to miss breakfast. This morning a small group of humans, Chris amongst them, were sitting at a table together, but at least they were in the same tent as the Vulcans. 

He smiled at them and grabbed a bowl of the horrible porridge stuff that had the texture of aloe but the taste of woodchip. There was a sauce to pour over it that reminded Jim of seaweed and which he passed on before seating himself at the nearest table. Spock was sitting there, but a few seats down. 

“Don’t think we’ve met,” he introduced himself to the Vulcan next to him. “Jim Kirk.” 

“Torek,” the Vulcan replied.

Jim took a spoonful of food while he tried to think of anything other than the weather to talk about when Torek finished his food and left. Well, he’d tried; maybe he should have washed before breakfast after all. As he ate he became aware that the Vulcan opposite him was staring at him. Jim met his eyes—one of the Vulcan elders, if he wasn’t mistaken. Councilor Sprinek, wasn’t it?

"It’s been worse since we came to Saketh, you know," Sprinek said.

"How so?" Jim asked.

The Vulcan elder didn’t answer and just when Jim had given up the on the conversation the other pushed his half-finished bowl of porridge to one side. 

"Saketh is better than anything we could have hoped to find. The Ark here provided us with a means to lay the remnants of our now dead culture to rest.”

"Your culture isn’t dead!"

"Yes it is. Look around, this is not Vulcan. Future generations will adjust, and that is… comforting. But Vulcans like me, we will not understand nor share in the culture of any people who call this place home.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, and I do understand what you’re saying,” Jim said. “I get the impression that not all Vulcans think that way though. I’m pretty sure Spock doesn’t, for one.” 

“How would humans react if they were in this situation? Do you know?" the councilor asked. 

Jim was taken a bit aback by the shift in the conversation. 

"No, I don’t,” Jim replied after a few moments thought. “But in general, after large-scale tragedies we mourn, grieve, and eventually many are able to move on.”

It seemed to be what Sprinek had wanted to hear as he inclined his head slightly while Jim said that. 

“So by dealing with your emotions,” Sprinek stated. “Indeed I am hopeful that many of us may learn to purge all emotion by completing the Kolinahr. And we must do that, because the only emotions we are capable of experiencing at the present are negative ones, such as anger.”

"I've seen more behind Spock's facade in the past!"

"Indeed. And there you have it—yet more proof to add to the body of evidence that humans and Vulcans are affected by the aftermath of tragic events in fundamentally different ways."

Jim frowned, and went back over the conversation in his head. 

"You think Spock’s human?" he asked eventually.

“Of course he is one of you,” Sprinek answered, which made Jim wonder whether the Vulcan needed an eye test, because he felt Spock’s alien appearance was hard to mistake for that of a human. Half-human, yes, but not fully human. And Spock often maintained that his biology favored his Vulcan genetics. 

Jim stared into his porridge bowl. Had he read Spock so wrong? Spock had told him that he only felt anger. Slowly, the hairs all over his body pricked up as the thought of all those negative emotions churning around inside the Vulcans reminded him of what he’d read this morning. 

"Is that what happened on the first colony?” he burst out. “I couldn’t find anything about there being an official enquiry, let alone any conclusions it might have drawn if there was one, but I read that it was rumored that what happened there was a mass suicide … triggered by a horrible murder committed by a Vulcan.”

The elder didn’t reply to that and Jim could tell this was the end of their conversation.

***

After breakfast everything was a rush, because the USS _Freedom_ had arrived in orbit earlier than anticipated. On his way to the large vessel’s sickbay Jim learnt that they’d not been informed of the correct time of arrival for fear of the message being intercepted by the Romulans. Jim treated that as the rumor it currently was, but still—it was worrying.

"Glad you could finally make it, Doctor Sargoni!" Jim exclaimed when he reached his destination. 

He held out a hand, which Sargoni took and shook vigorously.

"Yes, good to finally meet you in person! I’d hoped to be on the first ship, but with the majority of the Vulcans still on Earth I ended up stationed there. Glad to be here now, though. I’d say we get started with your scans right away, Captain—they’ll take a while I’m afraid."

Jim found it hard to keep up his good humor during the scans; he wanted to take the aptitude tests. He felt like he was back and ready to command his ship again. If the tests showed otherwise, he would definitely be disappointed.

“Right, onto the tests now,” Sargoni said cheerfully.

Once those were also over, Jim swung his legs impatiently as he sat on one of the sickbay beds. Thankfully Sargoni had them evaluated quickly enough. 

“Remarkable!” the doctor said.

Jim’s heart leapt at Sargoni’s tone. “Sounds like this might be good news.”

“Well, I’m definitely taking you off your medication or you’ll turn into some super-human being. We’d thought you’d need a lot longer, but your tests and scans are all very good.”

A big gin spread across Jim’s face. “So, that’s it? I can have my command back?”

“Well, if these scans were all you were waiting for, then I’ll send them straight to the admirals.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I’ve still got prove that I know the difference between a dilithium crystal and rock-salt, but I know I can answer any questions they send my way.”

“Excellent news all round then,” Sargoni said smiling. “Although the dead brain tissue has left you with some lesions that we’ll have to keep an eye on.” He tipped his head to one side. “You aren’t sad then that this is it? This is the most your brain will ever be fixed. Any memories you don’t have now are lost forever because the synapses that held them are dead and gone. There’s nothing left of your missing memories that could be saved.”

Jim shrugged. “Got to live with that, haven’t I? As you said, nothing will bring those parts of myself back, so I’ve gotta move on with my life—hopefully there will be some time left for me to make new memories. As long as I get my ship back, I’ll be happy.”

“I’m sure you’ll be getting her back, Captain.” Then the corners of his mouth turned down. “But with all due respect, sir, you must have lost some memories that meant a lot to you.”

Jim bit back the defensive reply on the tip of his tongue. “Yes. Yes, I have,” he said finally. “And it does worry me.” He realized his voice was increasing in volume, but he couldn’t stop it. “I can’t remember the first time I killed a man. That’s something I feel like I shouldn’t have forgotten.”

Sargoni nodded. “I will write a recommendation for some counseling sessions for you.” 

Then he extended his hand to wish Jim goodbye.

Jim blinked. “Wait.” He took a moment’s pause to calm down; then he held up a hand. “I did want to ask you something.”

He took another deep breath. Sargoni had managed to get under his skin with his probing, but he had to get a grip on himself and focus.

“Sure,” the doctor replied. 

“Not related to myself. This is about the Vulcans. The way they’re behaving … is it normal?”

Sargoni smiled even more now and Jim wondered if maybe he’d accidentally hypo’d himself something strong earlier. Or maybe not ‘accidentally’—he was working with Vulcans all day long after all, so really his good mood was highly suspicious.

“Since I’m not working on the Pon Farr problem anymore, thanks to you, Captain, I’ve been able to devote more time to my other research. I’m now looking into their mass depression.”

“I thought Vulcans couldn’t get depression, something about their brain physiology being different?”

“Yes, that’s what the Vulcans say, which is why I’m having a hard time proving that they can. That and the fact that every Vulcan who didn’t show up clear on their first psych eval showed up clear the next time they took the test. They just learn how to answer the test so that they ‘do well’ on it the next time. Huh, they really don’t want to be diagnosed.”

“So what about brain scans?”

“Tried that, but it’s inconclusive, unless you can find me someone who specializes in the Vulcan brain. There are no human experts, no surviving Vulcan experts—it would have been very lucky to find one out of only ten-thousand who happened to be an expert—and of course there are no recorded cases of any Vulcans being depressed in the medical databases of the Federation and, like you said, according to the Vulcans: they’re not human, they don’t get depression. Which is basically them telling me to go shove my research …, well, you know where, sir.”

“If the Vulcans insist they can’t get depression, why are you trying to make the diagnosis?”

“Because my xeno-medical intuition tells me I’m right. And although each Vulcan is affected differently in one sense, in another, there’re many parallels. What they’re going through is quite obviously nothing like depression in humans, but far more alien. I’m happy to be here on Saketh finally, as by all accounts the situation here is far, far worse than it was San Francisco. Very interesting from a scientific point of view—obviously it’s not good news, but maybe it will provide me with another piece of the puzzle. So far I’ve not even got enough to convince Starfleet Medical. After all, who’s to say they just aren’t behaving ‘normally’ after the destruction of their planet. Huh, as if there was anything even remotely normal in losing your planet.”

“Agreed with you there. Well thanks for proving me with your puzzle piece. I’ll let you know if I can find any more and please keep me updated on your work.”

“Will do, will do,” Sargoni promised. “If you need my help, just call me. I’ve grown quite attached to my patients and I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for them already. Saketh is the right planet for them, I’m sure. For one it gives them all the chance at a future without having to worry about something as simple as sex.”

***

As soon as Jim left sickbay he headed directly for the bridge. He got a few odd looks on the way—damnit, he needed his uniform back—but Captain Naroyan then got him set up in the conference room and requested her communications officer to set up a priority call to Admiral Pike. Then she left Jim alone in the room.

“I hear this is urgent?” Pike asked as soon as he appeared on screen.

“Yes, I want my ship back,” Jim said, concentrating on keeping his voice level; he remembered all too well how it had gone the last time he’d talked to Pike.

His former mentor was guarding his expression equally well, though. Jim couldn’t read it. 

“You can command her?” Pike asked finally. 

“I couldn’t two and a half months ago, I admit. But I know I can now. There’re some medical test results on their way to you and most importantly, I know the Academy curriculum better than I did before I sat my finals. You can tell your cadets not to moan at the workload—it’s not that hard if I can manage to get through it all so quickly, only working on it during the night.”

“Yes, but you hadn’t forgotten everything. Only a few specific things.”

“Shush, you don’t need to tell them that!” Jim smiled brightly. 

Pike regarded him quizzically. He’d seen that look on Pike before, it roughly translated to: ‘what the devil are you blathering on about, kid?’ But, hell, someone had to try and break the ice, Jim thought. This was something he was not going to give up on. 

“I’m starting to think the doctors might have either done too good a job with your brain,” Pike replied, “or utterly failed. I guess I’ll have to wait for the test results to convince myself.”

There was the twinkle of humor in those eyes and Jim let out a small sigh of relief, although Pike's demeanor was still stony compared to the paternal warmth he'd usually projected when they'd talked in the past

“So, back to the real point of this conversation,” Jim said. “Where’s my ship now and how long will it take her to get here? Or will I have to hitch a ride with Captain Naroyan to the next starbase for a rendezvous there?”

“I’ll send her to you, because although I know you were just trying to be obnoxious in making this a priority call, this is actually urgent. Starfleet needs you back in command of the _Enterprise_ , so I’m glad to hear you’re better sooner than we expected.”

The grin slipped off Jim’s face. “Why? What happened? Is Spock alright?”

Pike sighed. “Spock’s fine, but he’s not … we’re having trouble with both the Klingons and the Romulans. So we need tactical people like you who can think outside the box. As you know, Spock is more of an in the box person, whereas you’re so far away from the box you can’t even find it. That’s why you two together make a good command duo. The Romulan border isn’t too far from Saketh, so it makes sense to redeploy the _Enterprise_ there. We need to show those Romulans that we’re going to defend Saketh. It’s an easy target for them at the moment.”

“It seems I’ve missed a lot of news,” Jim said gravely. “I knew we had trouble with the Klingons, but the Romulans? What happened?”

“Starfleet Intelligence report the Klingons are in talks with the Romulans. In short, the Klingons want to strike us now while we’re down, but since Nero destroyed a large part of their fleet too, they want to team up with the Romulans. We’re rebuilding the fleet as fast as we can. You’re not the only one who’s had a meteoric promotion.” Pike sat up straighter. “Right, I’ll get this sorted as soon as all the tests come through. I can count on it that you’ll pass any tests sent your way to assess your professional knowledge?”

Jim winked at him. “Yes, you can count on that. Send them as soon as you can.”

“Will do. So there’s only one thing remaining. You and your first?”

“I ended it.”

Pike gave him a measuring stare. The Spock shaped hole in his heart had been getting larger the last two days and now it was bleeding profusely as he stumbled his way through an explanation of Spock’s Pon Farr like symptoms and how he’d given Spock the relief from those symptoms that he’d needed. After sharing that with Pike, he felt as hollow as he had the day Spock had broken up with him—but he’d wanted to share what had happened with the admiral, as a sign that he was willing to work on rebuilding the bridges he’d burnt. 

Pike didn’t say anything for a while. But Jim saw some of the hardness melt out of his eyes. For the first time they showed some true understanding. It made Jim’s throat constrict just a tiny bit.

“I’m sorry I accused you of taking advantage of Spock. I’m only sorry about that bit mind—you deserved the rest of what I said. After all Spock's been through I feel a little protective of him. I know we’re talking about a Vulcan here, but I’ve known Spock for years and if I was allowed to use only one word to describe him, then I’d choose ‘big-hearted’. But the second would be ‘loyal’. And so I didn’t want Spock getting himself into a bad relationship. Not that, not that you’re bad. But you’re his superior, Jim.”

Jim felt the bottom slowly sag and then drop out of his stomach. That’s certainly not how he’d ever thought about it, though he understood Pike’s anger better now. Spock hadn’t tolerated him out of some misplaced sense of loyalty, surely? No, even though he’d been the one to push for them to have a relationship, he still knew he hadn’t coerced him, he was sure of it. 

“Relationships between the first officer and captain of a starship are not to be taken lightly.” Pike paused then. “But, well, if you two do get back together, I guess… I want you to know that I’ll cover for you, as I did for Spock and Uhura. A lot happens on deep space voyages that not every admiral would agree with, but I get the feeling that I’d rather know what’s going on with you two at all times than have you keep it secret. So whatever you do, keep me informed and, as always, be discrete, will you? I don’t want the press finding out—ever. Okay?”

“Understood, sir,” Jim said woodenly.

“Take care, Jim. Pike out.”

***

The _Enterprise_ was due to arrive in a few days now and before she did there was one Spock he had to talk to first before he could face the other. Jim strode through the main street; since it was now early afternoon, building work was in full swing. He spotted Chris talking to a Vulcan. The young man turned, spotted him, and waved. Jim returned the gesture and walked on down the road and on past the temporary accommodation units and tents until he finally found Spock standing in a natural clearing next to a small space craft. He remembered it had only arrived three days ago—a private trading vessel apparently.

“Spock?”

“Ah, Jim. How are you?”

“Good, thanks. Looking forward to getting my ship back. Haven’t seen you around in a while, is everything alright?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Well, I’ve got a few things on my mind that I wanted to talk to you about,” Jim said, scratching the back of his neck. 

Spock nodded. “I suggest we go inside and sit down then.”

Jim looked up at the ship. “Sure.” 

“You know the traders?” he asked as they each took a seat in the small craft.

Spock regarded the ceiling as if fascinated by it. “Let’s just say I was able to provide them with enough credits that they decided that they quite liked Saketh. So they will not need this ship again anytime soon.”

“You’re leaving? When were you going to tell me?”

Spock’s eyes usually gave him away to Jim, but now the shutters the Vulcan could pull up to guard them where closed tighter than usual. 

“Huh. Well this is exactly it, you know—what I came to talk about. Most of the Vulcans here, their behavior … now, don’t get me wrong: I can’t even start to imagine what it’s like to lose my planet and be one of the last survivors of my race. I can’t.”

Jim wrung his hands.

“I’ve had to live with watching my mom never recover from her own survivor’s guilt after the death of my father; I know what it’s like to be messed up inside.” 

He didn’t mention his own stunt with driving a car off a cliff or any of the subsequent stuff he’d been up to following that. 

“And I know what it’s like to live with depression,” he said quietly. “The fact that you and your counterpart both seem less affected makes me think it's probably something biological, that Vulcans are just different in that respect. But I don’t know what to make of all this. Help me out here if you can? Is this … anything anyone can help with? Do you all just need time? Is there anything I can do?”

“There does seem to be a problem with the ship’s engines if you could lend me a hand?”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“This is hard to put into words. But,” Spock raised a placating hand to prevent Jim from protesting. “I will try.”

Jim nodded his head. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“I think your observation is incorrect. I do not think I am any less affected. If you are referring to the conversation you had with Sprinek, which I did happen to overhear, then I want you to know that I do not believe all Vulcans are as badly affected as he is with negative emotions. I do, however, agree with him that the Kolinahr is the best way to stop the escalating feelings of anger that are afflicting us. And we must fight our emotions; if we didn’t suppress them … we would be monsters.”

Spock let those words sink in before continuing. “I myself am trained in the ways of the Kolinahr, and although I never completed the discipline, I retain the knowledge of how to purge emotions.”

Jim’s thoughts all ground to halt; they’d all focused in one specific part of the sentence.

“You wanted to get rid of all your emotions forever? Why?”

Spock shook his head. “That is not important. What is of importance right now, however, are the engines of this ship if I am ever to get to Romulus.”

“I can see you’re just deflecting the question, as you always do when I ask about your timeline … but, wait—damnit, you’re good! Romulus? Why do you want to go there?”

“Because, Jim, the Federation is ill prepared for a war against both the Romulan and the Klingon Empire. So I must go and do some … meddling.”

“Aren’t you worried they’ll like, just take you prisoner? Torture you?”

This time Spock raised an eyebrow slowly and delicately. “Vulcan’s do not worry.”

Jim sighed. Maybe the two Spocks weren’t so different after all. 

After taking note of everything important about the engines, he left to fetch a few things from the shuttle craft before returning. 

“Got everything for the repairs now,” he said. 

Well, ‘repairs’ wasn’t really the right word to use here—he could do better than that. 

“I never knew you had such a talent as a mechanic,” Spock said after Jim had finished his work. “I do not believe my Jim would have been able to do what you just did.”

 _My Jim._ What kind of relationship had they shared in Spock’s timeline? He remembered the feel of Spock’s dry hand grasping his firmly in the Katric Ark. He looked up at the Vulcan from his position kneeling on the floor in front of an open wall panel. 

“Well, I’m full of surprises, eh?” He screwed the panel back into place and stood up. “The ship’ll be quicker than before, but try to get rid of it as soon as you get to Luria II—before they do any safety checks, okay?”

Spock bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Live long and prosper, Jim. I hope we meet again.”

“Yeah, you look after yourself, too, Spock,” Jim said in return. He took hold of the ambassador’s left shoulder and squeezed it. “Good luck with the Romulans.”

***

When the party had beamed down Jim could see the tension in Spock’s stance. He didn’t look comfortable in the slightly over large command-gold shirt he was wearing; and as a gust of wind blew down the estuary onto the beach, it ruffled Spock’s hair for a moment. In that blink of an eye, Spock did look disheveled—just a bit.

“Captain, it is good to see you again,” he said flatly.

Bones, satisfied that this was enough of the formalities jumped forward until he was next to Jim, put an arm around him and squeeze him tight.

“Missed you, kid. Good to have you back. Knew you’d do it!”  
Bones hugged him tighter. “And with you, I mean you. Not that I wasn’t glad to have any Jim come back out of that Ark, but I’m glad the therapy worked.”

The rest of his senior crew came closer too to greet him warmly and congratulate him on his recovery. That is, all apart from Spock.

“Nice beard, Captain!” Sulu commented.

Jim could see Uhura’s eyes flick between him and Spock. 

“It’s just a short walk from here to the settlement, but we’d better get going,” Jim said.

He gestured with his right hand for them to start the walk up the valley, along the black road. As everyone got going Jim made eye contact with both Bones and Uhura; they nodded in reply. They understood he wanted to talk to Spock away from everyone else, so they rounded up Chekov, Sulu and Scotty and whisked them off along the straight road. Jim waited a little and then Spock came to stand next to him.

He noticed that everyone up ahead was slowly gravitating to the right side of the road and within a minute they were walking next to it, amongst the rhubarb-like plants.

"How are you, Jim, and how has it been for you here on Saketh?"

It sounded pretty rehearsed. That was alright though, Jim told himself; after all it meant he did care, just maybe not right now.

At present there was no point telling his friend about any of the turmoil of his emotions—Spock clearly wouldn't be able to connect with him on an emotional level; not at this point in time at least, hopefully sometime later today. Jim decided he could be that patient.

"Yeah, I'm good thanks. We can talk about Saketh and how it’s been for me here this evening, or maybe tonight, because there's a lot I want to tell you. But first I want to hear how you are. How've you found captaining the _Enterprise_?"

"The experience has been ... fascinating."

"I thought you might say that."

"I believe the crew will be very happy that you are back."

Spock took off the gold command shirt and held it out in front of him.

"Captain," he said.

Jim took it off him, careful not to accidentally brush his fingers against Spock's—just the thought of that had his heart beating harder—and then because there didn't seem to be anything else to do in this situation, he put the shirt on. He looked down at himself; he was getting his ship, his life, back. Finally.

He grinned. "This feels good. Really, really good. Thank you, Spock."

To be continued...


	38. chapter 38

Dinner had been the same somber affair it always was on Saketh, though Sarek had seemed glad, if only for a moment, to see his son. Jim had taken some comfort in that. The meal had lasted far too long, though — he’d wanted to be back onboard the _Enterprise_ , to walk through her corridors, check up on every section, and discuss ship’s business with Spock. Now, he was sitting in the briefing room of the _Enterprise_ with Spock. He’d done all the things on his wish list; he only regretted his wish-list hadn't included spending enough time in his quarters to take a shower.

Opposite him Spock straightened in his seat.

“If that is all, Captain-.”

“Actually, there is one more thing … .”

Damn it, why couldn’t he just wrap up this meeting? It had been a very long day, after all.

“I am listening,” Spock prompted.

He paid attention as Jim explained about the worrying behavior of the Vulcan survivors. Then he turned his head to watch the stationary stars out of one of the room’s small windows. Jim rubbed his eyes — he was tired; he’d tried to approach the subject sensitively, but maybe he should've waited until morning after all.

“Spock, I’m sorry if you think I’m being tactless by even mentioning it, but I’m concerned. Maybe Sargoni and I are trying hard to find a problem simply so we can feel like there’s something we can fix. I … I don’t know anymore. I mean, it’s hard for us as humans to understand how it is for a Vulcan.”

He paused and reflected on what he’d said then, calling Spock a Vulcan when the elder Sprinek had called him ‘human’.

He tried to find his focus again. “Even if we could put ourselves into your position of having lost so much … since we have different genetics and different cultures, understanding your people is just-.”

Spock fixed Jim with hard eyes. “Difficult? Uncomfortable?”

“Yes. I admit it. There. But still, I’m reluctant to disregard Sargoni’s words. He’s a specialist in xeno-medicine. He’s seen how pain effects a whole range of different species.”

“I still do not understand why you give his work any credence. You have already presented enough counter-arguments to his theories yourself. And you have no first-hand experience of being among Vulcans before the destruction of my home world.”

“You don’t think your people are behaving any differently?”

“I have not had enough contact with them to make a statement with any certainty, but of course we have been deeply affected by what has happened.”

Jim noticed that Spock’s hands were clasped in front of him, his knuckles white.

“I know that,” he whispered. “That’s what Sargoni is trying to say: that this has affected you all in a way that no one could’ve anticipated — because this is a situation no one could possibly have imagined. And I do know you, Spock. I’ve noticed differences in your behavior and I put them down to the change in our relationship, but coming to Saketh may have been the cause. Many people have told me that the Vulcan survivors seem to be getting worse, not better, on the planet. Sprinek told me that all he felt was anger. A Vulcan elder admitting emotion? I’m worried.”

“A reaction to finally experiencing the world that is meant to replace our home,” Spock replied flatly.

Jim shook his head and started to pick up the PADDs that were strewn across the table. Maybe they both needed some sleep and things would look better in the morning. When he’d finished stacking the tablets into a neat pile he turned to face Spock.

“Your older counterpart — he was different from the other Vulcans, you know? Even though his anger is also growing, although he suppresses it with his knowledge of Kolinahr … he still showed me kindness on Saketh.”

Jim felt Spock’s eyes boring into him; he held his own gaze level to meet them. In his chest he could feel his heart beating ever more loudly.

“Kolinahr is not the suppression of emotions: it is the purging of them. Once they’ve been purged they are gone.”

Spock’s voice faltered on the last word, breaking at the same time Jim saw his hands start to shake.

“I cannot believe he would do that,” his friend went on.

Jim walked around the table and slowly put his hand on Spock’s shoulder, but he needn’t have worried — the alien didn’t shrug him off.

Spock looked up at him. “I contemplated it once, but now ... ?” He shook his head. “The reason so many of my people are failing to purge themselves of their emotions is because we do not want to, could not bear to do it. Our pain, our anger, and our grief are all we have left of Vulcan. I cannot let go of that.” His lips were trembling too now. “I will not.”

Jim’s whole body tensed. What Spock was talking about, it was self-destructive? Selfish? Illogical? But he could understand it. In a way it was very human.

“If your counterpart purged that anger, rather than suppressing it,” Jim said. His mind was suddenly racing. “And he definitely told me he was using Kolinahr techniques ... then that anger must've returned. He also said the feelings of anger were growing stronger amongst the Vulcans on Saketh."

Spock raised an eyebrow. “That should not be possible. Once an emotion is purged, there should be no way for it to return.”

“Well, I think that’s what’s happening, Spock. There’s something about what’s happening to those Vulcans down on Saketh, to their emotions, that’s not right. I’ve given you all the arguments I have and I know they don’t seem to add up to much, but … I know, alright? We need to investigate this; I’m going to ask Starflee-.”

Spock stood up so quickly that Jim automatically took a step backwards.

“Your intuition?” Spock asked.

“Yes, my intuition,” Jim shot back, his face starting to flush red.

“You once explained to me how your intuitive judgment was based on drawing together many facts in a way not possible if you had started a logical chain of reasoning.”

Jim folded his arms across his chest, but said nothing. He wasn’t sure where this was going.

“I trust your intuition. Although that is not to say that I think any less of the logical approach.”

First Jim felt his back and shoulders relax, then the rest of him followed suit as he let out a short, relieved laugh.

“You are mostly correct, Captain.”

“So now you’re saying it’s ‘mostly’ logical to trust me?”

One black eyebrow rose up in response. “We should test your theory. I am in no way capable of analyzing the turmoil of my emotions; I cannot tell with any precision what being on Saketh does to them. But I do believe being on the planet increases their strength. If I went down there while Doctor McCoy monitored my brain activity he may be able to record any possible changes and so determine whether my reaction to being on the surface is a natural one or not.”

Jim grinned and slammed his fist down onto the table. “Now that’s the kind of talk I want to hear! Spock, I could hug you.”

But he didn’t. Instead he cleared his throat and pretended he found the neat pile of PADDs on the table particularly interesting, while Spock similarly seemed to have developed a sudden fascination for the red colored floor panels.

***

"Now I don’t mean to sound insubordinate, _Captain_ , but-,” Bones said as he and Spock shone their flashlights over the sandy beach.

In Jim’s opinion ‘I don’t mean to be disrespectful, or rude, or specist, _but_ …’ couldn’t possibly be followed by anything that was respectful, polite, or open-minded, so he knew that Bones was unhappy with his orders. Still, that didn’t stop a smile from spreading across his face.

“-honestly, couldn’t this have waited ‘til tomorrow? What the devil were you thinking dragging us back down to Saketh this late at night?"

Jim chuckled. “I want to investigate this. And for all I know I'll get a sub-space call tomorrow sending us to the Romulan Neutral Zone. Without any proof that there's a problem headquarters aren't going to take this seriously."

"Can't someone here look into this tomorrow while we're fighting the Romulans? After a good night's sleep, I might add.”

"Believe me," Jim said, his tone turning serious, "finding a co-operative Vulcan is a rarity."

Bones let out a huff.

"Come on, indulge me."

Not that his friend actually had a choice — he had his orders. But Jim knew he was only complaining because he liked to and he'd missed being able to do that under Spock's command. There was a whirr and a beep: the doctor was scanning said commander.

"Right," he said. "No change. So now what? It's past midnight, we're on a beach, it's cold, and Spock's brain’s behaving itself. Does that mean we should go to the mountain city?"

The exclamations "No!" and "I do not think that would be a logical course of action," sounded across the beach.

“I’m sorry,” Bones replied, throwing up a defensive hand.

Jim drew his lips into a thin line. “Besides — only a few Vulcans have been into the mountain. We're looking for something that's affecting them all.”

They paused their walk and Jim clamped his flashlight under his arm, leaving his hands free.

He rubbed them together. “You’re right. It’s cold and maybe we’ll be here a while waiting for something to show up on your scanner, so let’s make a fire to keep warm, eh?”

Bones mumbled something, but he didn’t waste time, quickly picking up the first piece of wood he could find.

Jim hollowed out a pit, which he lined with shingle, as his friends gathered driftwood for it. When he’d gotten the fire going they all sat down to huddle around it.

“You know, this is one of the things I love about Saketh,” Jim said. “It really is a beautiful place. The vegetation is green, you get used to the alien smell quickly, and there’re plenty of opportunities to relax if you can find the time to.”

He turned to Spock. “If we’d walked just a bit further along this beach, we would’ve come to a watercourse. Just a few minutes’ walk inland the stream pools. Although the sky is always hazy, the sun does have some strength. You can easily bathe in the water there and let the warm breeze near the ground dry you as you lie on its banks.”

“Lovely image,” Bones snorted. “Please tell me more about your nudist adventures on Saketh.”

Jim laughed and nudged him gently in the side with his elbow. “Well, if you insist.”

“I would not be averse to hearing more,” Spock cut in. “About the planet, of course.”

His eyes twinkled with humor in the firelight. Bones drew Jim out of his reverie with a smack to his upper arm.

“You guys, I’m right here.”

The whoosh of the flames and the crackling of the dried wood eclipsed all other sounds around the campfire for a few long minutes. Jim stared at the sand in front of his feet.

"Huh. Sorry again, I guess," Bones said as he threw on some more fuel, sending sparks up into the starless heavens. "I didn't know you two weren't ... whatever you were, anymore. No one tells me anything after all." He shot Jim an accusing glare. "But you know, this place reminds me of a lake near my grandfather's on the border between a wood and some cornfields. We used to camp on its shore occasionally ... ."

And so the conversation picked up again and Jim told them of the cliffs he enjoyed walking along, how the cold spray of the ocean on a windy day could shroud the whole coast in white, and of the sight of the Sakethan sun turning yellow as it dipped below the horizon in the evening.

The light of the small fire was dimming as Bones went to kneel down next to Spock again, scanner in hand. But after studying the medical instrument for a few long moments he shook his head. Jim groaned and let himself flop backwards onto the cold sand. Above, the darkness was absolute; no stars. So black, he thought.

"The monuments!"

He leapt up, grabbed Spock's arm, and tugged at it. "Come!"

After they'd hastily filled the pit Jim ran on ahead of his friends, back the way they'd come. The way his flashlight reflected off the black stone reminded him of a still pool of water; he waited for the others to catch up.

"Bones, touch it. It feels odd right? No, Spock, you wait a minute. Did you touch it last time you were here?"

"No, I did not. But I have had opportunity to feel the texture of the material it is made of. It is the same rock as that into which the Katric Ark was cut."

"Yes! I remember thinking that when I was last in the Ark!"

"Going to explain to me what you’re so excited about?" Bones asked, but then his eyes went wide and he pulled his hand back from the stone slab. "I don't like that thing."

"No! No human does."

"Doctor McCoy. If you are ready, I will touch the stone," Spock said.

Jim went to stand beside him. "Are you sure about this?"

"Positive, Captain."

The medical scanner buzzed menacingly and Jim stepped out of the doctor’s way.

“Ready when you are,” Bones said.

Jim bit his lip. He wanted to pull Spock away; he knew it was an irrational urge. After all, he’d watched other Vulcans touch these structures and at worst it had made them a bit more introverted. That was all it had done, right?

Spock knelt down at the edge of the road and reached out with his hand, palm outstretched. Those hands were so sensitive, Jim remembered. He wondered if the stone would even feel smooth to those alien fingers, or if they’d be able to pick up all the unevenness that he wasn’t able to. Before Spock made contact with the monument he hesitated — his hand hovered in the air just above the surface and Jim hoped he’d never touch it.

He didn’t. He stood up and fixed his eyes on Bones.

“Did you record anything?” he asked.

“How’re you feeling?” the doctor replied.

“Not really the best question to ask him, Bones.”

Maybe Bones hadn’t seen that Spock hadn’t touched the stone … or maybe the Vulcan hadn’t needed to. He didn’t look any different and if it hadn’t been for the fact that they’d just done this as an experiment, no one would probably have thought to ask Spock if he’d just experienced anything out of the ordinary. Well, maybe he hadn’t, Jim reminded himself.

“No,” the doctor told Jim sternly before addressing Spock, “Let your feelings out. Don't suppress them now!”

“You do not know what you are asking of me there,” Spock replied coolly.

Jim wanted to reach out and touch him, but he clasped his hands behind his back instead.

“That bad?” he asked.

“I do not know if it is ‘bad’ or not. I do not want to analyze my emotions. I … cannot.”

“Right, course not,” Jim replied softly.

Earlier in the briefing room Spock had been quite clear on his inability to analyze his emotions.

“Doctor, what did you register on your scanner?” Spock asked. “A natural or unnatural reaction?”

“Everything looks normal now. Increased activity in this one region of your brain here.” He held out the device for Spock to take a look, but the Vulcan suddenly didn’t seem to care, barely giving it a passing glance before averting his eyes.

“From what I know that’s linked to more activity of your conscious mind. I guess you’ve got a lot to think about, eh?”

“Or it’s taking a lot of his concentration to suppress his reaction to the monument,” Jim said.

“Right,” Bones took another look at the scanner himself. “But what I did see while Spock was near that road was a memory being put down. Of course we’re putting down memories all the time, but this one seemed to go straight to his long term memory. Maybe that’s normal for Vulcans, but I doubt it.”

“Well, that’s something. Forward the data to Doctor Sargoni, maybe he can make some sense of it and we can see if it’s anything we can report to Starfleet Medical. It sounds like it could be! I want this investigated further tomorrow, orders from headquarters permitting. But we’ve found something, so let's go to bed now.”

He hesitated before calling the ship, though. Spock looked alright, but something had happened to him then, Bones had recorded it. Spock hadn't shown an interest in the scan results, which was very uncharacteristic of the keen scientist he knew that man to be. Did the Vulcan know more than he was letting on?

Jim turned to face him. “Are you okay?”

A slight sigh seemed to pass Spock's lips. “Yes, Captain.”

“Right.”

Well, it had been worth a try. He flipped open his communicator.

“Wait,” Spock said.

With a snap Jim closed the device in his hand.

“I do not know if this is related to what the doctor detected,” Spock said, “but there may be more than a correlation here: when I am near that road, and other places like it, I can almost see how the colony might have looked. One second I imagine Vulcans walking down this road, laughing, but the next they are butchered in a terrible massacre. Illogical. I do not have enough data to construct such a scenario. But I reasoned that proximity to the Sakethan ruins, remains of a culture similar to that of my home world in ancient times, was sufficient enough to explain my over-active imagination. Now-,” he tilted his head to one side. "I cannot say for sure that my supposition was correct."

"Come.” Jim put his arm around his friend's stiff shoulders. "Let's get off this planet and back to the _Enterprise_."

It wasn't even what he'd describe as a proper hug, he'd held back from doing that, and yet Bones seemed to be looking away purposefully. Well screw him. This was just him putting a friendly arm around Spock, if Bones chose to interpret it any other way then there was nothing Jim could do about that. Sure, Vulcans weren't the most tactile of creatures, but still, it didn't mean anything.

"I hate you, Bones," he muttered when the transporter beam took hold of them.

To be continued...


	39. chapter 39

He’d wanted to get some rest, but his bed had felt uncomfortably soft; not to mention that he thought his quarters smelt of Spock. While he was sure that was just his imagination, he’d still found his thoughts revolving around the alien.

The doors to the first officer's quarters slid open. Spock was sitting in the middle of the room meditating. Or well, he had been meditating until Jim had disturbed him by sounding the chime.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course."

Spock seemed calm, but that could be a lie. He didn't get up, so Jim sat down next to him and started rubbing his back gently.

"Come on, we should both get some sleep."

Spock furrowed his brow. "Am I preventing you from sleeping?"

“I didn’t want you to be alone; wanted to make sure you were okay. Vulcans might not worry, but humans do.”

Although it was the truth—that he needed to assure himself Spock was alright—there was more to it than that. Examining his own ulterior motives made him uncomfortable, but it was hard to escape the truth: _he_ didn’t want to be alone, wanted to be close to Spock.

To watch the Vulcan stand up was to witness the slow unfolding of a graceful being. Jim always marveled at the high degree of control he had over his body; it was truly awe-inspiring. Once he was upright, he extended his arm towards Jim and opened his hand, palm facing upwards. Jim’s vision narrowed down to the pale offering. If he touched that hand the alien would almost certainly feel how fast his heart was pumping. That was the very least he’d be able to feel. He reached out and grabbed Spock's wrist, which was covered in the material of his blue science shirt; Spock locked his fingers around Jim's wrist in turn and helped him up.

For a couple of seconds they just stood where they were, their arms still linked. The sight caused a memory to flash across Jim’s consciousness: cold, churning water, but between them an oasis of heat.

He let go. Spock didn’t. Instead he felt the Vulcan increase the pressure slightly; just a squeeze.

“Spock?”

There was no response on his face, no indication of what he was thinking.

“You do not want me to be alone?” Spock asked eventually.

“Well, if you’d prefer to be alone of course... but otherwise… .”

Spock placed a few fingers lightly on Jim's chest, and he knew then that all his effort from earlier to hide the state of his emotions was all for nothing at that point. Then Spock left him next to the meditation mat as he went to his sleeping area. When he came back he was carrying two pairs of Starfleet issue pajamas.

"I believe the human word is 'sleep-over'. If that is amenable to you?”

Was it? Just because he’d secretly—or as it turned out, not so secretly—wanted this, didn’t mean that it was in any way sensible. He walked past Spock without taking one of the offered pajamas, sat down on the bed, and put his head in his hands.

“You read me right. This is exactly what I wanted. To be close to you. But it's probably also the worst idea in the galaxy.”

Spock sat down next to him. “I am not very emotionally aware. Now especially. Please tell me what you need.”

Jim laughed, but there was no humor in his voice. “I was meant to come here to comfort you, not the other way ‘round, you know?”

“Your presence is comforting to me. I am very grateful that you did not choose to end our friendship.”

Jim shook his head. “I was never mad at you. More… disappointed.”

Spock looked down at the floor. “I am sorry for hurting you so much as I must have done for you to end our relationship. You were very forceful in wanting it despite my reservations that it would be a burden on you and lead to you being hurt—something I never wanted but which has occurred nonetheless due to my unfeeling actions.”

“Huh. So you noticed too?”

Suddenly Spock looked a lot smaller; Jim’s gut felt like it was twisting horribly. He averted his eyes, but that only made it worse because these quarters were stacked full of mementoes. A thick Vulcan tapestry hung on one wall, below which was Spock's lyre, and next to it some pot plant with blue flowers—it looked a bit like one of the plants he’d seen on Saketh. Above it a whole host of framed photographs were displayed on a shelf. There was one of Uhura. From within another frame the dark eyes of a small Vulcan boy holding the hand of a dark-haired human woman stared back at him.

If he’d come here to comfort Spock, then he really wasn’t doing a very good job of that so far, was he? Had he ever done a good job in that respect? His personal logs didn’t indicate that he’d thought to ask Spock about the loss of Vulcan or his mother, or even about the breakdown of his relationship with Uhura. But surely he had? He cared so deeply about Spock that he couldn’t imagine that he wouldn’t have offered him all the support that he could. It was clear his friend needed some right now.

He swung around and in the process dislodged the pajamas Spock had laid down on the bed between them; they tumbled to the floor. His hands felt their way over and around his friend’s back—beneath the fabric of the blue science shirt he felt muscles bunch. Jim held Spock tighter as he rested his head on the other's shoulder.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” he said softly. “You’re going through hell.”

He felt strong arms encircling his body and then he was being hugged in return. Gradually he felt the knots of tension in his stomach unwind. It took a lot longer, but after a while Spock's back muscles started to soften.

Spock’s voice was quiet, but clear. “So are you.”

This was the moment Jim had been waiting for all day, for months if he was honest; he'd first had his hopes dashed after what had happened by the monument, but now the moment was here. He drew in a deep breath and savored the warmth of Spock's body pressed against his. This wouldn’t last, he knew, but maybe he’d have an hour or two with his friend.

“Hopefully we’ll know more tomorrow about what’s happening to you on Saketh—on top of all that you’ve already had to suffer and are dealing with.”

They held onto each other until Jim broke their embrace. “Sorry, but this position is a bit awkward and really doing my lower back in.” He grinned. “We’re also not getting much sleep.”

He hurried off to the bathroom, one set of pajamas in hand, to get himself ready for the night and when he returned Spock had already changed. While Spock was in the bathroom Jim studied the bed. For once he was actually glad that Starfleet had never gotten around to finishing off the quarters to the newest standard. Instead of the slim thermal beds the ship had meant to be fitted with that would’ve allowed the crew to sleep comfortably in a uniform, they’d ended up stuck with old fashioned mattresses—which had the benefit of being slightly wider than their thermal equivalent though.

Jim lay down on one side as Spock exited the bathroom. Soon they were both lying down next to one another, each covered with a thick blanket of their own.

“Jim, are you comfortable?”

“I’m fine. Really,” he said while staring up at the ceiling. “Um. How about you?”

When his friend didn’t reply Jim closed his eyes. Even an hour had been too much to ask for, obviously. He was tired of this—bone tired. But that was life, wasn’t it?

The backs of Spock’s fingers brushed his bearded cheek. In response he felt the skin all over his body flush with blood—it wasn’t fair that he was affected this much by only one simple touch, wasn’t fair at all. Warily he opened his eyes.

“Hmmm?” he prompted.

“While you were away I was often afflicted by illogical thoughts. At times I would enter the bridge and my eyes would seek out the chair in its center hoping you would be in it. Of course you never were.”

Spock’s sensitive fingers were lightly carding through his beard. Jim turned onto his side, reached out with one hand, and ran his fingertips over his friend's slightly rough cheek. He held his breath; they weren’t so close that they’d easily be able to kiss, but his eyes were drawn to the Vulcan’s full lips nonetheless.

Spock noticed that and removed his hand. “Jim, I am attracted to you and you are my friend.”

“But… ? Come on, I know there’s a ‘but’ waiting just ‘round the corner. So I’ll save you the pains and say it myself: but you don’t want a relationship with me. You never did, did you?”

“That is not entirely true. I thought that it was ‘worth a try’, as humans would say. It was only when you started to fight for our relationship that I understood you were serious about it, but by then I was certainly in no fit state to be your lover—I probably never was. And I am still not. And this time I will not allow you to change my mind.”

As Jim let his fingers drop away from the cold cheek it had been resting against, Spock caught them with both his hands.

“I say that because I know that I wish never to hurt you again. Friend.”

Jim nodded past the knot in his throat. “Friend.”

He scooted closer to Spock so he could wrap one arm around the other man’s shoulders.

“But just tonight, let me be there for you—let me hold you; because I know this isn’t easy on you either.” Jim put on a cocky grin. “You must be using a lot of that famed Vuclan control right now to stop yourself from undressing me, hmmm?”

Spock raised a devilish eyebrow. “Indeed. The discomfort I feel at having to resist the urge to take this further is considerable. But it is worth it to experience the contentment that your closeness affords me.”

Well, there was no way he was going to fall asleep tonight, was there? He had to concentrate hard not to kiss that damnable Vulcan on the lips—or anywhere else for that matter.

***

The next morning Jim woke to the sound of a door chime. He opened his eyes and was about to ask the computer for the time when he realized that his head was resting on Spock’s shoulder, while half his body and one of his arms were draped across the Vulcan. He drew his hand back quickly and wanted to use it to lever himself off; that was impossible though because he was being held tightly by an arm as immovable as a mountain. The door chime rang again.

“Shit. I’ll, um, be in the bathroom.”

Spock released him and Jim sprang to his feet. With practiced ease he found his balance on the soft mattress so he could leap over his friend’s form to land on the other side of the bed; from there he dashed to the slim door in the wall. It took far too long to open but finally it allowed him entrance to the safety of the small room.

Heh, just like old times back in Riverside, he thought once he was inside. In the mirror his unkempt reflection showed a few white hairs amongst the blond, both in his beard and on his head. Time seemed to pass more quickly in space than it did in Iowa—or at the very least it had a greater effect on him out in the black. Which was not a bad thing necessarily; maybe he’d get his hairdresser to add a few more hints of white here and there, make him look more distinguished. He grinned and shook his head. When had he last had time to care about his appearance? Judging by the beard on his face, not in a while. Besides, thanks to the media everyone knew his age anyway, so there was no fooling people with his hair color.

He angled his head this way and that to examine all of his facial hair. Behind him the door opened; he could see in the mirror that Spock was standing in the doorway wearing some kind of heavy robe over his pajamas.

“Visitor gone already?” he said without turning.

Bones stepped into view behind Spock. “No, I’m still here.”

“Oh! Hey, Bones! I was just thinking I really need a shave, eh? And I could do with a cut too.”

“I’m a doctor, not a hairstylist, Jim. Sargoni contacted me less than an hour ago.”

They all went to stand around Spock’s desk.

“I sent him the data,” Bones explained. “And he’s excited. Spock, would you be willing to repeat what we did last night?”

“Of course, Doctor,” Spock replied quickly.

Bones turned to face Jim, seeking his approval; after all, last night had clearly affected the Vulcan in some mysterious manner—and that was certainly something to be concerned about.

Slowly, Jim nodded too. “If you’ll excuse me though, I think I want a shower and shave first.”

***

Two days later Bones was standing outside on the main street when Jim exited the building where he'd met with the Vulcan elders.

"How'd it go?" his friend asked.

Jim put a hand on his back and led him down the road at a fast pace, away from the center of the settlement. They headed towards the coast.

"That bad, eh?"

Jim stomped his foot down on the ground. "It's frustrating. They're being difficult about this on purpose. They don't want to stop anyone from going near the black stone. Why do they like being close to those monuments when they seem to have such a bad effect on them?"

"I think you should ask Spock," Bones replied. "He loves those monuments just as much as the next Vulcan."

"No, he doesn't."

"Oh really? Because I've seen him around those black stones. He's always volunteering to touch them—beyond the call of duty."

Jim huffed. "Well, we've discovered a whole complex cut into that black rock by the shore. I'm going there now to join Spock in the investigation; I'll keep an eye on him."

"Any response from Fleet Command?" Bones asked.

"They've got the report on their desks, but they still haven't decided if we'll be the ones to continue looking into this or not. But they’re taking this mystery seriously, which is what’s important."

Bones put a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Back to the topic of Spock... ."

"Yes?" Jim said icily.

"Just want you to know that I'm here to listen, kid. I'd promise not to judge you, but you know me—that's a promise I wouldn't be able to keep. But I do know when to keep my mouth shut and listen instead. I think you really need to talk."

Jaw clenched, Jim resisted the urge to storm away down the coastal path. Instead he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What he saw in his mind then was Bones hunched over a table in the officer's mess, between Uhura and Chekov. It wasn’t like Bones to make his problems public, and yet he’d done just that—because he’d finally been pushed to the point where he’d needed to. Jim didn’t think he was quite there yet, but his friend was right. It was best not to let it get that far—he had a ship to command.

"Fine," he grumbled.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and waved for Bones to take a seat on the trunk of a tree that hadn't been strong enough to resist the gales.

"Where should I even start?" Jim asked.

He really had no clue. It occurred to him then that until he’d come out of the Katric Ark, barely alive, that he’d never shared his problems or his private life with anyone.

He felt his airways constricting—there'd been a reason for that. But now he didn't remember. That one experience, and with it a part of his personality, had been excised from his mind forever.

Bones placed an arm around his back. "Are you two in a relationship or not? How about we start there?"

“Okay,” Jim whispered. “And after that can we also talk about my memory losses?”

Immediately Bones looked more concerned and leant in closer.

“Of course,” he said.

Jim wrung his hands. “The first night back on the _Enterprise_ … I really felt like I’d not only gotten my ship, but also Spock back. The last days he’s been more distant than ever though. I don’t know where I stand with him right now.”

Bones hadn’t been lying, Jim decided as he started to explain things which he knew were surely uncomfortable for his friend to hear—he really was a good listener.

***

The tide was low, exposing the stumps of an ancient forest that had been claimed by the sea. Jim stood on the beach, a comm channel to his ship open.

" _Enterprise_ , do I have confirmation that there are no storms approaching, no bad weather?"

"Clear skies, sir," Sulu replied.

"Good, Kirk out."

He motioned to Spock, Ensign Howard, and Lieutenant Khmer to enter the natural cave in the steep cliff in front of them.

The air inside was cooler and the sound of the waves muted.

"Lieutenant, so far this looks like a natural cave to me."

"Ah yes," Khmer replied, "I think this part is, but further on it was extended. Look here."

He aimed his flashlight at a small lump of rock jutting out of the wall near the ground. It looked normal enough to Jim. Then the lieutenant swung his beam away, a few paces up ahead. The same structure. And then he was pointing out another on the opposite wall.

"What are they?" Jim asked.

Spock hadn't even taken out his tricorder. "Wall lights. The floor of this cave used to be considerably lower centuries ago."

Then Spock ran his hand reverently over the cave wall. It made the hairs all over Jim’s body stand on end.

“Let’s move on,” he said.

The further in they went, the more obvious the signs of a Vulcan influence were. The craggy rock gave way to smoothed surfaces; they were clearly in a room now, not a cave. At the far end their flashlights illuminated an archway. Symbols, carved into the rock at the apex of the arch, seemed to move with a life of their own; their forms stood out sharply through the shadows the flashlights left in the deep grooves as they passed under the arch. Beyond it was a broad passageway. The walls were inscribed with deep groves which formed large symbols that even the harsh ocean air had not been able to corrode. They came to a steep incline; once they’d climbed it they reached another chamber, only this one had not been silted up by sand. It was not as vast in size as most of the rooms in the mountain city—instead it was humble both in its design and layout: a simple square. The bright light of all four of their flashlights lit up the whole room and revealed that there were no corridors leading off it.

“This is the end,” Spock whispered.

Jim studied him. It was uncharacteristic of Spock to simply state the obvious.

“The end of what?”

“The Sakethan civilization.”

Howard and Khmer closed their beeping tricorders and turned to listen. Spock’s eyes weren’t focused on any of them though; he was staring at the walls, as if looking for something. Then he darted forward and put his hands against the stone.

Jim dashed to his side. “Spock! Look at me.”

There was no response. He tried to shake him, pull him back into the center of the room, but the Vulcan’s body was unyielding.

“We’ve got to get him out of here!” Jim said. “Help me.”

Howard and Khmer joined him and together they were able to prize Spock away from the wall. There was a dazed look in his eyes.

“Spock? Spock! Howard, help me carry him out. Lieutenant Khmer, contact Doctor McCoy. I want a medical team standing by outside the cave.”

When they got him to the entrance, Bones and nurse Chapel rushed up to them. They laid Spock down on the sand and Howard stepped back.

“What happened?” the doctor asked as he turned on his hand-held scanner.

“There was a room in there. He touched the wall-.”

“Move him!” Bones barked. “Get him right out of this cave so the transporter can get a fix on his signal.”

To be continued...


	40. chapter 40

Jim was sitting behind the desk in the doctor’s sickbay office. Damned if he was going to leave here until he knew whether Spock was going to be okay or not.

“Captain Kirk to Lieutenant Uhura. Are you in the cave? Have you got any idea what those inscriptions say?”

“I’m standing in front of the archway. The symbol there is the Vulcan equivalent of our omega.”

The final letter of the Greek alphabet. “The end,” he mumbled.

“Yes. Or death. We’re in the passageway now. The writing here is almost identical to High Vulcan.”

Jim mulled that over. Spock would also have been able to read that then, although they hadn’t stopped to study the writing in detail.

“I think it’s a… a memorial, sir.”

Jim leant forward in his chair, closer towards the comm panel. “It doesn’t say anything else?”

“A telepathic memorial.”

The office door hissed open and Bones entered silently, heading straight for one of the terminals in the far corner.

Jim hid his clenched fists under the desk. “So it’s another Katric Ark?”

“I don’t think so, no. At least it doesn’t mention Katras. I think the Sakethans built this memorial when they knew the end of their civilization was imminent. It says here: ‘We leave this record for those who will follow us in making this planet their home’. I remember what it felt like to have the Vulcan Katras in my mind-.”

Jim’s fingers were starting to hurt now and his arm muscles vibrated as he tightened his fist.

“-and they definitely spoke High Vulcan. I think they must have constructed this for other telepaths who might not understand their language.”

Jim drew his eyebrows together. “But you need language to communicate; unless they'd planned to just use visual portrayals of Sakethan life."

“I think with telepathy they could do more than that. They might be able to pass on sounds, smells, and emotions; sensations such as touch, too.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

He cut the channel and looked over towards Bones; the doctor turned around.

“How’s Spock?” Jim snapped.

That Spock had even entered the chamber, without a word to indicate what that place held, rubbed Jim wrong in every single way. But it was comparable to this behavior in the Katric Ark when he’d almost gotten them killed, wasn’t it? But there were no Katras here Uhura said. Maybe Spock had just stopped caring about his responsibilities. If he had… was that really a conscious choice on Spock’s part though? He remembered shouting at his mother once.

_You chose to leave! You chose not to care about me!_

He’d been ten years old. The boy inside of him wanted to shout at Spock too—as did the grown man.

He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. Bones had come to stand next to him.

“He’s alright,” the doctor said. “I’m about to wake him up. The same thing that happened near the road happened again. But a lot stronger this time—far more memories were being laid down. There’s only so much even a Vulcan can handle. He can pick up the telepathic signals just as easily as you can hear my voice, but to commit everything to memory perfectly? To concentrate on that his body decided to shut down non-vital functions one by one.”

“Right.” Jim knew he was being curt, but this was serious. “Spock went into that chamber knowing what would happen, Bones. Well, he might not have known that he was going to lose consciousness. But the rest—he knew.”

He clenched his jaw.

Bones folded his arms across his chest. “That's one hell of a conclusion to jump to without talking to him first. Only a few months ago you were the one defending him—without even any evidence that there were Vulcan ghosts on that planet messing with his mind. And he'd nearly gotten you both killed! But you turned out to be right.”

"That seems like another lifetime. We've both changed."

"I’ll put him on medical leave—before you decide to do something you'll regret, such as dismissing him from his post as your first officer."

Jim gaped at him. "I was never even thinking about doing that!"

"No? Well I'm glad to hear it. Because if you really didn't trust him to care about his work anymore, then that's exactly what you'd have to do."

Jim knitted his brows and got up out of the chair.

"You're right. I'm just... this is confusing and it's really doing my head in."

Bones clapped him on the back. "Let's talk to him, see what he has to say."

When Jim went to stand at Spock's bedside he felt a tightness across his chest that convinced him Bones had been right. He was sick to the stomach at the mere thought of any telepathic invasion of Spock's mind; but he had to make sure that worry didn't turn into anger. Stay calm, he told himself.

Gently, Jim squeezed Spock's forearm as Bones administered a hypo. Bleary eyes opened and stared up at the ceiling.

"Are you okay?" Jim asked in a soft voice.

"Okay is an imprecise word."

Jim breathed a sigh of relief. "What happened? What do you remember? Uhura explained that place was a telepathic memorial."

Spock looked at him, but his eyes were still unfocused.

"Yes."

Worry gripped Jim. He took Spock's hand in his and started rubbing it with his thumb.

He turned to face Bones. "He doesn't seem quite with it."

The scanner whirred. "He's definitely thinking—a lot! Maybe too much. I guess it might be like you said the first time: that he's working to suppress his emotions."

Spock continued to stare up at the ceiling blankly.

"That doesn't come easily to him, you know," Jim said. "He's only half-Vulcan."

"Well, if he'd only let it out... ," Bones mumbled.

"You want him at my throat again?"

"No, but I guess we could restrain him first."

Jim remembered the gag he'd placed into Spock's mouth when he'd bound his hand.

"That's not a bad idea."

"What is?" Bones frowned.

"Never mind," Jim replied. "Spock, I'm going to stay here, alright. I'm not going anywhere so just take your time and when you're ready, I'm here to listen."

Spock blinked. "They're all dead."

***

It had turned into a long night. Spock hadn't looked like he was going to sleep, but he hadn't talked either. Eventually Jim had nodded off.

"Jim. Wake up."

When he did, he noticed Spock was sitting up in bed, legs crossed.

He yawned and shook himself awake. "Right, I'm listening.”

Spock nodded. "I will try to be brief. Then I am afraid I will have to meditate again. I do not think that I am fit for duty, Captain."

"Yeah, we'd figured that." Jim smiled weakly.

"I will seek treatment though. My father, I believe, has learnt some Kolinahr techniques from my counterpart."

Jim didn't like the sound of that, but he nodded anyway.

"When I entered the cave,” Spock said, “I could see in my mind how it looked in ancient times. It was not dissimilar to being near other monuments. But it became increasingly harder to step back into the present. I... ," Spock swallowed, "lost control."

"If you lost control, then I can't imagine I would’ve lasted five seconds trying to resist," Jim said. "Uhura said the chamber was constructed as some kind of memorial."

Spock gave him a thankful look before he continued. "Uhura is correct. That is one function, but its most important one by far is to inform. Jim." Spock looked directly at him. "While many other worlds are still uninhabitable due to radioactive contamination after the ancient Vulcan civil war, Saketh is littered with telepathic relics."

"Which are no less toxic?" Jim guessed.

"Indeed."

Jim ran his hands over his face. This was sounding more and more hopeless by the second.

He groaned. “There are monuments all over the planet!”

"I believe that it may be necessary to consult the Katric Ark, but my estimation from the impressions I was exposed to in the chamber is that the whole planet is affected. I know from my own lessons in history at school that for a long time only a few select Vulcan tribes were involved in the colonization drive.”

“Tribes in which the majority of the Vulcans weren’t affected by the instinct to return home to mate?” Jim asked.

“A reasonable assumption,” Spock said. “Saketh could be colonized by people from all tribes due to the home stones. It seems such stones would not have had much effect on any other planet though, but the rock here is more susceptible to telepathic influences than even that of Vulcan was. While the Katric Ark on Vulcan bleeds into the mountain around it, this one diffuses into the entire continental shelf. The Sakethans dug down to the bedrock to allow access to the planet from almost any location at the surface.”

“The black monuments!” Jim exclaimed.

“Yes. The Sakethans were telepathically attuned to their planet at all times. It was this that proved to be their downfall. The Vulcan Katras are not ‘ghosts’. That description fits the Sakethan Katras well, though. And they are angry, restless ghost; upset and demanding. Their anger at the destruction of both their own civilization and its cradle saturates the very foundations of this world. The Vulcans who lived here fed their negative emotions to the planet via the monuments, which in turn disturbed the Katras. They turned the mood of the planet dark, and as a consequence received even more negative emotions in return. A downwards spiral to which the Sakethan civilization succumbed.”

Jim jumped up and grabbed hold of Spock’s arm tightly. “So in the end it was like trying to escape the gravitational pull of a black hole? We can’t let that happen this time!”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “We have managed to defy physics once before. I believe detonating our warp core was the solution. So it is certainly possible to escape a black hole.”

“But will the Vulcans fight? The Sakethans didn’t!”

Jim knew his grip was now surely bruising Spock.

"As I said, the chamber’s function was to inform. I now know how they routinely interacted with the planet; how they usually upheld the balance.”

“But what if your people can’t fight this? Isn’t the Katric Ark essential for your people? We can’t destroy it! I guess we could get rid of the monuments. But that wouldn’t help would it? Not if this telepathic stone makes up most of Saketh’s surface.”

Spock tilted his head to one side. “Captain, I am determined that we will bring the planet back into equilibrium—it is the logical course of action.”

Jim’s heart was still racing as adrenaline and worry pumped through his system.

"I must meditate." Spock’s eyes were suddenly wide and he reached up to rest a hand on Jim’s.

When he let his eyelids fall shut, Jim released his hold and let his hands fall to his side. He thought his arms might be shaking ever so slightly. As he looked on, Spock straightened himself as the rhythm of his breathing started to slow. Jim launched himself at the meditating Vulcan and placed a kiss on his lips. The man’s eyes didn’t open, but Jim was sure he hadn’t just imagining it: he’d felt some movement of Spock’s mouth against his, as if the Vulcan was trying not to smile.

***

When Jim walked towards Spock’s quarters a few nights later Sarek was just leaving them. The Vulcan gave him a particularly intimidating look that stopped Jim from greeting him formally; instead they each bowed their heads slightly in respect as they passed one another. Tricky Kolinahr session, Jim surmised.

He rang the chime. “Spock?”

The doors opened revealing a sight he’d become all too familiar with over the last couple of days: Spock meditating on the floor.

“Can I come in or are you too busy?”

“Please sit with me.”

Jim sat down opposite him. “How’s the Kolinahr going?”

“I am gradually managing purge the rage and sorrow of Saketh. It is not mine to hold onto.”

“What about your own feelings about Vulcan’s destruction?”

“I will attempt to deal with those at a later date, though not through the Kolinahr.”

Jim nodded. “That’s good to hear. Are you sure you want me to stay?”

“Your presence helps me focus, since you are a reminder of why I am doing this.”

“Okay.” Jim smiled.

He leant forward and kissed Spock’s forehead lightly. As he gradually pulled away his friend looked up and his nose brushed Jim’s chin. Their faces were still close, although they weren’t touching; Spock’s breath was warm. Ever so slightly, the pink lips on that pale face parted. Then they formed a thin line—the moment had passed and Jim sat back down again.

“I must meditate.”

Jim thought he heard a touch of a dry throat—he was glad to have at least that much indication that he wasn’t the only one intoxicated by the other’s presence.

“Before you do, I just want to let you know what’s going on so,” Jim said. “These orders aren’t definite, but according to Pike it seems likely we’ll be staying here for the one year anniversary of Vulcan’s destruction. The President of the Federation will be attending, so the _Enterprise_ will be providing security and we’ll be guests of honor at the ceremony—in which I hear you want to include some old Sakethan ritual?”

“It is a fitting opportunity to do so. We must work hard to restore the planet to a state of equilibrium.”

“Sounds good.”

“And what will our mission be after that?” Spock enquired.

Jim sighed. “The Romulan Neutral Zone.”

Spock held Jim’s gaze for a few moments. “I see.”

Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Jim watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, which was calming him almost as much if not more than any of his previous attempts at meditation had (barring the time he'd used that drug of course). There was only one thing disturbing his peace now and that was the growing need he felt to reach out and stroke the stoic alien's cheek.

***

Jim surveyed the scene from the top of the valley, where he was standing next to the inscriptions on the rock face. Around him were the Vulcan elders, the President, a security brief, and the senior officers of the _Enterprise_. Below in the valley were nearly five thousand Vulcans, standing on the long road down to the estuary. Some humans stood next to the black polished stone, while large screens had been erected at the roadside. Jim wondered if they were only for the benefit of the humans, because with all the telepathy that was going to be happening, he doubted the Vulcans would need to see the broadcast of this event, which he knew was also going out Federation-wide.

His chronometer showed that it was time and on cue the noise started to die down. Along with the other non-Vulcans he went to take his seat to one side of the black road—Spock joined the ranks of the Vulcan elders. The commander was officially on medical leave, but he’d sent a report to Jim detailing exactly what would happen during the telepathic part of the ceremony. Jim appreciated Spock's effort, but really, he still didn’t feel comfortable with the idea that all the Vulcan survivors were going to open their minds up to a hateful planet that was trying to suck them into a mental pit of doom (because that was how he’d started to visualize the problem).

Although it was not a cold day by Sakethan standards, and his dress uniform was very warm, the hairs on his skin stood on end. Silence fell over the valley; an eerie lack of noise, he felt. Sarek stepped forward. It should not have fallen to him to make this speech, but the head of the council of elders, although present, did not care for this ceremony apparently. A great omen that was, Jim thought bitterly.

Sarek welcomed the President and both the participants and the guests. As far as Jim understood this was as tedious as it would get out here; there would be more speeches later at dinner, he’d have to give one himself, but Vulcans didn’t see the point in unnecessarily wasting words.

And so Sarek cut straight to the chase. “It has now been four hundred and sixty-one standard days—one Vulcan year. We have come together today to grieve for our loved ones; for each individual life lost. But we are also gathered here to celebrate their lives and to pay tribute to them by starting out on a path towards a future both for ourselves and those who will come after us.

"I know only half of our number are gathered here today, that the other half does not see the point in what we hope to achieve with this ancient ceremony. Such apathy is something each and every one of us must fight to overcome. So I ask you now to all join hands and minds-.”

There was some shuffling as the Vulcans up and down the valley linked hands to form one twisting, but uninterrupted, line. Spock was last: he stepped up to take his father’s hand to complete the chain.

“I ask you to join minds and open yourselves up to the planet; to our new home. Saketh is consumed by the loss of life. So we must be strong in our determination that there is still much left in this universe that is worth caring about. Surak taught us the doctrines of a life based on logic because he cared deeply for the world around him. Logic allows us to live in peace and to respect all life. That is the essence of our culture and I say it is worth protecting. As a species we are not facing extinction.”

Sitting next to Jim on his right was the President, who let out a small gasp. On his left, Bones looked confused.

“There are enough kin of Vulcan in this universe. Most notably the Romulans.”

Jim watched as the doctor’s face slowly changed to one of horror as comprehension dawned at what Sarek had just stated: the Vulcans were formally acknowledging that there was no difference between them and the Romulans—biologically at least. The air was buzzing in equal measures with anticipation and dread at what Sarek’s next words might be; Jim held tightly onto the edge of his seat.

“What makes us Vulcan and them Romulan, though, is our culture and our ideology, which is in direct conflict with theirs. The United Federation of Planets is on the brink of war with the Romulan Star Empire. Do we let them win the war before it has even begun?”

He paused to let his words sink in. Jim loosened his grip on the chair. When Sarek continued, his tone was softer.

“So let us now return to the origin of what it is to be Vulcan and bring to the forefront of our minds everyone and everything we hold dear. Let us remind ourselves that through leading lives guided by reason we can be a positive force in this galaxy; to be that is our cause, it is our fight.”

Sarek closed his eyes and the others followed suit. Jim watched with baited breath for what he knew would happen next. Slowly Spock led the line to the mossy rock face, where he placed his free hand over the ancient inscriptions. All were silent and Jim didn’t think he could’ve made a sound even if he’d wanted to. He tasted electricity in the air. When he closed his eyes he saw Vulcan imploding; he saw the moment on the transporter pad when a small part of Spock gave up and retreated— _what was the point in it all now?_ —Jim understood then why he’d simply reiterated Pike's order to head for the Laurentian system and the knowledge caused a cold shudder to run down his spine. But he also saw the Sakethan sun rise over ancient ruins and he saw Spock meditating cross-legged on a bed in sickbay, the line of his back hard with determination.

When he opened his eyes again the brightness of the light reflecting off the polished black stone caused them to ache for a moment. The Vulcans were letting go of each other’s hands; none of them moved to step away from one another though. Still, Jim couldn’t speak. Sarek did not have that problem.

“We were losing our equilibrium long before we arrived here. I hope that as we work towards restoring the balance of Saketh we can restore the balance within ourselves. For all the help that Starfleet medical already has and will continue to provide us with in that regard, I wish to express my gratitude. And to everyone who came today: thank you. Dif-tor heh smusma. Live long and prosper.”

“Peace and long life,” Jim and the others at the side of the road replied, while the attending Vulcans responded in their own tongue.

***

“Well, I do look forward to you giving me your own quick tour of Saketh tomorrow,” the President said.

“I’m looking forward to that too,” Jim replied with a smile.

“Good night.” She nodded at him and exited the dinner tent, which the other guests were rapidly leaving too.

“We should head up,” Bones said, coming to stand next to Jim, their elbows brushing. “It’s late.”

Jim looked over his shoulder, but Bones already had a hand on his back and used it to gently push him towards the door.

“Your Vulcan’s still talking to Ambassador Sarek. Probably debating what the most logical course of action is on some issue or other, since, you know, it’s barbaric to let your feelings help you make a decision once in a while.”

“I don’t think Sarek was trying to imply we humans weren’t civilized-.”

“Sure he wasn’t. Right, now, you: bed.”

Jim smiled and they both left together.

 

To be continued...


	41. chapter 41

Well, despite his friend’s hassling, Jim was sure he wouldn’t fall asleep any earlier than usual. His mind was far too active. The door chime rang. It had to be Spock, he thought. Quickly he flung on a bathrobe and answered the door.

“Come in, Spock.”

“Sorry for coming by so late, but I had some matters to discuss with both my father and with Doctor Sargoni.”

“I understand,” Jim replied. “You’re… um… going to stay on the _Enterprise_ , right? If you want Bones to give you extended medical leave, that’s fine too, of course–”

Spock cut him off. “I will be resuming my post tomorrow.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Jim.” Spock clasped his hands behind his back and fixed him with a penetrating stare. “I wish for us to resume our relationship—if that is something you also desire.”

Like father, like son, Jim thought; no tiptoeing around an issue that needed to be addressed.

Jim took a deep breath. “I know you’ve been working hard on those Kolinahr techniques. But that’s not some magical cure-all. Nor was today’s ceremony, am I right?”

“You are correct.”

Now it was Jim's turn to glare and Spock seemed to understand that he needed to explain further.

“It will take time, maybe a lifetime, to deal with the turmoil inside me,” Spock said eventually. “I do, however, feel some significant improvement in myself already. I would not propose for us to be romantically involved if I thought I had nothing to offer you but the chance of further pain. Though I understand and respect it if you do not want the burden of being my partner.”

The gap between them was starting to make Jim restless, because it didn’t feel right. He inched closer. Maybe he’d go to those counseling sessions Sargoni wanted him to attend—and he’d make sure he spent more time talking to Bones.

“I’ll look after myself better in the future too,” he continued. “I won’t hide my problems. If you agree not to hide yours? Even the ones you’re embarrassed about. Deal?”

Spock had the good grace to look away and inspect his boots at that point. “Agreed.”

“Right, well, I don’t really want to dwell on the past. It’s rather hard for me to do that now anyway,” Jim added sarcastically. “But I thought Vulcans were generally patient; so how come you had to urgently see me tonight?”

Although Spock opened his mouth to reply, Jim’s right hand shot up and he shook his head. “On second thoughts, knowing you, it’s going to be some rather morbid reason connected to the looming war with the Romulans; the dangers of us dying on our next mission. So yeah, scrap that question.” He chewed on his lip for a while. “If we get back together, this still isn't going to be easy for me, is it?”

“No.” Spock’s eyes looked sad. “And I would not want you to resent being with me—our friendship is important. I care about you.”

To hear that from a Vulcan was no small thing, Jim knew. To talk about their emotions was very unsettling for them; he understood that what Sarek had done down on the planet had been an incredibly bold move. During the ceremony, had Spock thought of him? The way Jim's heart felt like it was hammering against his ribs didn’t seem healthy. He mused that he might need to ask Bones for a check-up on it when he was through with this conversation.

Spock’s dark eyes were wide and he held out his hand, two fingers stretched out. Jim didn’t meet them; instead he sprung forward and kissed him the human way. As he pressed himself flush against the strong body, feeling the softness of the pink lips with his tongue, it felt familiar and yet novel at the same time. There was so much to rediscover when Spock let his tongue slide over Jim’s.

Dexterous hands exerted a light pressure on his hips as Jim brought his own arms up around Spock’s shoulders to pull him closer. He nipped his lips, and pulled back just enough to kiss his nose. How he’d missed every part of this amazing person! With his nails raking through hair, chest pressed against chest, and teeth running over green tinged skin he tried to show Spock just how much he’d missed him. Spock’s long fingers ran up Jim’s side to stroke his neck. Jim pressed himself into Spock’s tender, reverent caresses.

“Guess I'd missed this, eh?” Jim said sheepishly. “I think I'm ready for a fresh start.” He grinned while nodding. “Though, um, your blood’s not still burning, is it?”

“No. I have had no further direct contact with the Katras. And I have no plans to go to the Ark before we break orbit—but if I did, it would not be without first preparing myself through extensive meditation.”

“That’s good to hear. Although I must admit–”

He interrupted himself to kiss Spock again—he wanted to make sure that what he had to say next didn’t come across in the wrong way. But the kiss left him out of breath and he had to gather his thoughts again from scratch.

“I’ve got to say, I’m a bit… not worried, just curious, to find out what the sex will be like now.”

It had never been amazing; but at least there’d been some passion—now Spock might be even less responsive than before. Jim bit back the rest of what he’d meant to say, though, as he felt Spock shift uncomfortably.

“Hey, hey. I love you.” He placed his lips to the base of one of the Vulcanoid ears. “I understand if things will be different now. And that’s okay. We just need to talk about it, hmmm?”

He felt Spock nod.

“I can control every organ in my body to a high degree,” Spock replied.

Then long fingers were stroking the back of Jim's head, along his jaw, and on to his check. They moved further up to his temples though—he grabbed Spock’s hand and yanked it away. The action had taken less than a second and Jim’s body was only just starting to catch up, his breathing heavy as he went into fight or flight response mode.

“Just… .” Jim wetted his lips.

Spock stared at him with his mouth slightly open and an eyebrow raised high.

“I know you were just stroking my face. You were, weren’t you?”

“I was. I am sorry that you interpreted my actions as anything other than that. You should know that I would not enter your mind without your expressed permission, except in the case of an emergency, when presented with no alternative form of communication.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m really sorry. You’ve got to believe me that was an instinctive reaction. I’m a bit sensitive about my mind, you know? I need more time.”

Spock pulled him closer again and held him there. “I was not aware you felt that way.”

“Huh, well, we have a lot to talk about. I’d like to do that whole mind-meld stuff. To know you as well as possible. I’d really like that… in time.” He smiled weakly.

Slowly Jim felt his ribs starting to ache in the tight embrace, but he didn’t want it to end.

“I understand, Jim.”

And it was because of simple things like this that Jim loved him. He knew this man would show him infinite patience.

“I take it, it is because my lack of responsiveness that you do not like topping?”

Jim started laughing, but the sound that escaped his confined chest sounded more like he was choking. Immediately Spock loosened his grip.

“Only you could change the topic of conversation so quickly and justify it as be ‘completely logical’.”

“I was thinking that if I cannot share how you affect me verbally or telepathically, then we could work on physical forms of communication instead. You wanted to talk about sex, did you not?”

There was a grin hiding somewhere on those Vulcan lips, Jim could see it, although he knew the minute he blinked, that it would be gone again, as if it had never been there at all. He liked the fact that Spock had a smile that only he could see.

Although the incident with Spock’s fingers on his temple had certainly quashed his desire for sex, he knew that he was sure to regain it soon enough—it had been such a long time.

He put on a broad grin. “The good doctor did order me to go to bed. You wouldn’t want to stand in the way of those orders, surely?

“Absolutely not. If you want some rest I should leave now.”

“Mmmmh, really? Is that a promise that I won’t get any if you stay?”

It thrilled him that Spock could see the humor in their situation; they could get over any problems they had, he just knew it. The energy that thought gave him, made his smile broaden so much it hurt his cheeks.

“I estimate the probability of–”

Spock didn’t get any further as Jim drew him closer for another kiss. The battle of their tongues lasted all the way to the bed, with only a few interruptions to allow them to catch their breath or for Jim to check where he was walking. They were pressed groin to groin, which made it even harder to ignore that neither of them were hard. It didn’t matter, Jim told himself. He knew why he wasn’t getting aroused right now, the knots in his stomach from the unexpected mind-meld scare were only slowly dissipating, and Spock was… Spock. He didn’t care if that meant that outside of Pon Farr their sex life might be a little more complicated, he loved this man exactly the way he was. Although, sex was important of course; he liked sex. But they could work with whatever the Vulcan’s alien sexuality allowed them. He sure as hell didn't like the idea of Spock only willing himself to be hard for Jim’s benefit, but they'd work out something. Right now, the feel of soft lips and scraping teeth on his skin was a good sign, an excellent sign, that they wouldn’t really have too many problems.

The hand that had until then been carding reverently through Jim’s hair moved down to undo the tie on the bathrobe. He was wearing pajamas beneath; another layer of clothing his lover would have to remove. That thought made him run his hands under Spock’s blue shirt and over his black undershirt—feeling his way from the rock hard abs up to well-developed pecs. Those shirts had to come off; both of them. After removing them he paused so that he could run his fingers over the hairs on Spock’s chest and lick his nipples. He liked slow undressings, but they were both of them too impatient for that today, and Spock hastily took off his boots as Jim drew down his own pants. When they’d finished they stood in front of each other naked. Knowing that Spock was surely surveying every detail of his body just as he was taking in the exact rise and fall of the features of Spock’s was leaving his mouth even dryer than it had already been.

He reached out and ran his fingertips over Spock's bulging bicep; leaning down he placed his lips over the skin there and started sucking and licking it before running his tongue up along Spock’s shoulder all the way to his Adam’s Apple.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his lips hovering over wet skin.

He could feel the rumble of Spock’s vocal chords when he replied.

“I am thankful to simply be in your company,” Spock said.

Jim pulled back to look into dark eyes.

When two Vulcan fingers were offered this time, Jim didn’t ignore them in favor of a human kiss.

“What does this touch tell you about me?” he asked.

“That your body is still experiencing a stress reaction. It has not fully metabolized the chemicals released into your bloodstream when you feared a telepathic invasion of your mind.”

“Wow.”

Spock entwined their fingers. “I think we should lie in bed.”

“And ‘definitely not’ cuddle?”

***

Jim slowly drifted up out of a deep sleep. He couldn’t feel his arm, which was mildly alarming. When he turned his head to look for it he saw Spock. Craning his neck forward he managed to bump noses with him; that didn’t wake him up though. A least he knew now why he’d lost all sensation in his arm—someone thought it would make a good pillow, did they? He poked his tongue out to tickle Spock’s face; he ran it over the rough skin above his lips—a shadow of stubble had already appeared there. He wondered what Spock would look like with facial hair, but he couldn’t imagine it and his lover still wasn’t waking up so he smacked a sloppy wet kiss on his nose. It twitched in response.

“Your head’s heavy, you know?” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t complain otherwise. Maybe you could shuffle closer? Move onto my shoulder?”

While Spock did move closer, he moved far closer that Jim had been expecting him to. The Vulcan went from deep sleep to wide awake within the space of time between heart beats and laid himself on top of Jim with all his weight.

“That’s impressive,” Jim said with what little breath Spock hadn’t squeezed out of his lungs.

It didn’t quite encompass everything he was feeling in response to Spock’s boldness, but hey, he was still half-asleep. At first Spock ran his lips slowly over the flushed, exposed skin; it didn’t take long until Jim was writhing. Although he knew Spock’s technique needed work, at the same time he thought that what his lover was doing to him was just fucking perfect. Everything was starting to blur; not his vision, but his inner world. His heart had been in this man’s keeping for a long time and now he had no second thoughts on allowing himself to succumb to its wants. He could hear shuffling about on the covers, then some kind of scraping.

“Where are the condoms?” Spock asked.

“Uh.” Jim felt his stomach drop. “Shit. I didn’t think to get any from the med supply cupboards in sickbay.”

“Then you will top.”

“Alright!”

Holding onto Spock tightly, pulling him closer, he rocked his whole body to the right, putting the most swing into his hips, to reverse their positions. Then he put his lips to Spock's earlobe and sucked on it.

"Got you now," he whispered.

"Indeed. But, Jim, I am not comfortable with this.”

“Computer, lights—fifty percent.”

They both sat up. Jim didn’t know what to think. A minute ago everything had been exactly the way it should be; he sighed.

“I want you to enjoy this,” Spock said.

“What? What made you think I wasn’t enjoying myself until you put a stop to it? I might not want to top you all the time, but the moment was right.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Though I guess it’s gone now. Let’s get back to sleep.”

“No.”

Jim rearranged himself so he could lie down with his head in Spock’s lap, looking up at him.

“No? There’s always tomorrow you know.”

“I want you to understand.” Quickly Spock placed the palms of his hands on Jim’s chest. “It is difficult for me to give up control—but that is what I would have to do to be affected by our lovemaking.”

Those words cut at Jim’s heartstrings. “Oh Spock.”

He turned his head so that he could ghost kisses over the lightly haired skin of Spock’s thighs.

“I don’t want you to put on some act for me. If you don’t enjoy sex… .”

“I do,” Spock explained. “I did when I had no option but to relinquish some control to my base instincts. But having control wrenched away from me in such a manner is an experience I would not want to go through again—although I know that my biology will eventually leave me little choice in that regard,” he added.

He didn’t want to feel sorry for Spock, but it was hard not to view this situation through the filter of his own mind.

“There is something that might work,” Spock said quietly.

His thigh muscles felt tighter beneath Jim’s head.

“I want you to restrain me.”

Jim reached out for one of Spock’s hands and when he found one he brought it to his mouth so he could kiss its palm.

“But that was different,” he whispered in reply. “You were in a lot of pain.”

“I trusted that the gag you made would make control over my vocal cords unnecessary, to a certain extent at least.”

Jim laid Spock’s hand against his cheek as he mulled over the idea. It might just work. He could foresee that those restraints would have to be strong to hold Spock in place tightly enough that he felt they were doing a job equal to his willpower.

“I believe you would enjoy sex more like that, too,” Spock said.

“Well of course I’ll enjoy it more if I know you’re not faking it!” Jim sat up and took the alien’s face into his hands. “I… I’ll do just about anything to make sure you get what you need during sex.”

Spock raised an eyebrow and narrowed his eyes minutely. “I would like you to put that declaration into practice.”

With that he got off the bed, picked up the bathrobe from the floor and started tearing it into strips.

Jim watched him slack-jawed. His lover’s muscles rippled in the dimmed light as he made light work of the sturdy material.

“Unexpected, but kinky,” Jim said voice slightly hoarse.

He cleared his throat. “Will those strips of cloth be enough to hold you down though?”

“I will control myself that much at least.”

If this worked he would definitely find stronger restraints.

“Alright!” Jim leapt out of bed. “So, um, how do we do this?”

He looked around his quarters. Could he tie Spock to anything? Was he even meant to?

“Have you done anything like this before? ‘Cause I really don’t know where to start.” He laughed. “This would be so much easier with a four poster bed. Though I guess I could wrap you to the bed with the bandages by running them underneath it.”

In the end neither could think of a better plan, so after tying together many of the strips Jim had bandages long enough to do just that. Carefully he tied each of his lover’s ankles to the opposite wrist, forming an ‘X’ under the bed. He stepped back to survey his handiwork. There were still some strips of bathrobe left and so he got back to work again to somehow create more of a ‘frame’ of bandages. Having witnessed firsthand how strong Spock was on several occasions he made sure to tie the knots as well as he could. Still, if Spock wanted to, he'd be able to free himself—which reassured Jim. He didn’t actually want to take away Spock’s ability to tear himself loose. Not tonight at least. He noticed that Spock had gone very still; maybe that was only because he couldn’t move anymore.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Spock nodded, but it didn’t convince Jim. He knelt on the floor next to the bed and stroked the neat hair.

“Are you sure?”

Spock averted his gaze. “Positive. I am willing to cede some of my control to the restraints.”

Jim kissed his cheek and let his lips linger there. He understood Spock's mixed views on the matter. Although it might allow him a freedom he could otherwise not experience, it meant letting go of years' worth of tightly held control—for a Vulcan, that was a high price to pay.

“Please cover my eyes, too, Jim. I have been told they show a lot of emotion when I do not check them.”

It was that emotion Jim wanted to see more than anything else of course; but he got that there were undoubtedly also some cultural issues here too. He'd lived long enough amongst the Vulcans to realize how disdainful and embarrassing they thought any slip-up in their discipline was.

“Anything else?”

“I think there is still enough material for a gag.”

Jim hesitated. “If you can’t speak, I won’t know if what I’m doing is alright or if you want me to stop at any point.”

“That will not be an issue,” Spock said evenly. “I trust you.”

“Eh… okay.”

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. Yes, he knew the whole point of this was that Spock would not be able to show any responses, but it was only now sinking in that he’d not be able to get much, if any, feedback from Spock.

“Um… fine. Just one last thing.”

As he thought of what he was going to ask Spock next he felt the blood rush to his cock.

He grinned. “How much prep do you want?”

“Not much.”

“Thought you might say that.”

He brushed his lips over Spock’s eyelids before blindfolding him; then he put the gag in place. As he finished the last knot he realized just how turned on he was by the sight of Spock lying there, completely vulnerable. It wasn’t really that he liked the idea of his partner held down by restraints, but the fact that Spock allowed him to see him like this… that he was going to let Jim witness as he let go of the iron grip with which he normally held onto every fiber of his body, that was what really had Jim's throat constricting with emotion.

Eager to give Spock what he longed for Jim put his tongue to good use. His heart was beating at least two hundred beats a minute, surely, he thought. Then he licked, kissed, massaged and touched every part of Spock’s flesh he could reach, especially his pointed ears, which he had such a soft spot for. Who wouldn’t have done the same, faced with those ridiculously cute ears? Spock would probably kill him if he told him just how cute he thought they were.

"I'll be right back," he whispered into the ear's shell. "I think I've got some oil in the bathroom that we can use as lubricant."

When he returned he poured some of the oil onto his hands and started massaging Spock's thighs, arms, and shoulders; and then because he really saw no need to suppress the urge, he started caressing Spock’s ears with his oily fingertips. It came on slowly, but he felt small tremors run through Spock’s body.

“Is everything okay?” he asked Spock gently.

Spock seemed to be nodding, but Jim didn’t want to do anything wrong and the tremors… well, he’d never felt the Vulcan's body behave like that before except under extreme stress. He was lying on top of Spock and could feel his lover’s erection dig into his stomach. To be safe he left the ears alone and cautiously continued his massage; then he shifted off Spock so that he was kneeling between spread legs. All the time Spock was shaking minutely. He knew it was probably a good sign, but how could he be sure? This wasn't a human lying here!

He couldn’t take it anymore; he untied the gag.

“Are you okay? You’re trembling.”

Spock’s breathing was ragged. “Yes,” he hissed.

The frayed tone was such a turn on. “If I retie this gag then how can I know you don’t want me to stop?”

Spock didn't reply, but his breathing was just as heavy as Jim’s was. Jim wanted to be inside him right now, but he had to reassure himself that it was going to be alright.

“I love it when you’re inside me,” he said and a moan escaped his lips at the thought and he could feel himself sweating where their skin touched. “But sometimes I tell you to do something different, to change the angle—and I don't have amazingly sensitive hands. Some signal if I’m doing something wrong? Alright?”

Spock’s voice was gravelly. “I apologize. You are right."

Too much talking Jim thought and moved against Spock. “Uhhh… so I won’t retie the gag?”

“Retie it. If something is wrong I will shake my head.”

“Show me.”

When Jim was satisfied he fumbled to replace the gag quickly. His erection slid against Spock's; this was already hotter than any time when the Vulcan’s blood had been burning. Thighs moved against hips, sticky skin against sweat slicked abs. For the first time ever Spock was really allowing himself to be affected by these touches—and it was driving Jim crazy to feel and hear even a small amount of evidence of that. He wanted more of that feedback. Below him Spock’s hips strained against the bandages; not much, but enough to encourage Jim to reach for the oil.

As much as he wanted to untie Spock he knew that this would not continue if he did. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he slid in. The effort it took to hold himself back like that caused beads of sweat to drip from his forehead onto Spock’s hot skin. It had never felt like this before. He had his hands placed firmly on strong shoulders and he could feel the muscles there move beneath his hands, could feel Spock trying to push his hips upwards to match his rhythm. The sight of the pale skin of his lover's haired chest turning bright green almost undid him; he was panting hard, fighting for each breath in an effort to hold back, because he never wanted this to end. He felt so close to Spock, who was laying himself completely bare. That thought cause him to moan loudly—and although it was subtle, there was a reaction to that, which he could feel in the tensing of his lover’s muscles. Knowing how he’d affected Spock left him shuddering with exertion as he battled again to put off the completion of their joining.

He knew he wouldn’t last much longer, so he shifted his weight onto one hand and took hold of Spock with the other, stroking him with a quick even pace. When Jim came he groaned and squeezed Spock's cock tighter—he knew he could still thrust a couple more times before he went soft and he tried to make those movements count. He gasped when he saw Spock come too and immediately collapsed on top of him. Drenched in sweat, he simply lay where he’d fallen for a while.

"That was... I love you, Spock."

He forced himself up out of bed and cursing his lack of foresight searched for something to cut the ties with. There was no way he’d be undoing any knots now. As soon as he'd found a small blade that was suitable he freed Spock.

His lover was perfectly composed again, but the black bangs were plastered to his face and his stomach covered in his own semen.

Jim winked at him. “Let me help with that.”

Spock sat patiently as Jim licked at this stomach. The skin there had returned to its natural color already.

“I love you,” Jim repeated. "That was pretty mind-blowing, eh? And damn, you could walk out of here onto the bridge right now, couldn’t you? Well, at least after throwing on some clothes. I was barely even able to take those bandages off you."

He climbed back into bed and lay there. It felt like someone had messed with the gravity controls.

Spock got up and headed to the bathroom. The situation was too familiar to ones in the past for Jim's comfort; he shut his eyes.

He felt a damp, warm towel pressed against his stomach.

"Jim? Would you like me to clean you?"

Spock was kneeling down next to the bed, looking almost perfect again—when Jim looked into the brown eyes, though, he saw that they were dark and intense.

"Yeah, I'd like that," he mumbled as a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I'd like that a lot."

After finishing that Spock lay down next to him and pulled a cover up over both of them. Jim was close to sleep, as he felt Spock's fingers slide between his.

He thought he heard Spock whisper something as the Vulcan placed a careful kiss on his lips. And although he must have misheard, because, well, it was Spock, it had sounded a lot like: "You make me happy."

***

Maxim flashed his Earth citizen pass at security as he stepped out of his craft and onto the deck of Luria II. He'd never been to a space station outside of the Federation before. His palms felt clingy. Would security ask why he was here? Surely not, free travel to this station was allowed, he'd checked that.

The guards nodded and waved him on. Maxim sprang forward and headed towards a data access point. He brought up a layout of the station then headed for the main deck. Not much further now. He forced himself to take measured strides, when what he really wanted was to bolt right down the corridor, pushing aside everyone who was slowing down his progress. Here, out in space, searching for news stories—this was where he belonged! The Vulcan report had been the first step, something to build on. If he got a good documentary together on another shocking news story then everyone would want to watch it and he could further cement his reputation; he could prove that he hadn’t just been lucky!

When he finally stepped out into the open space of the main deck he checked his chronometer. Should he go to the bar early, or wait around here and arrive punctually? It was best to be punctual, not early, he decided; for all he knew, he might accidentally insult the alien otherwise.

He dragged himself past all the shop window displays. In the last one something finally caught his eye. It was small, round, and furry, was in a cage, and had definitely moved. Well, if this interview turned out to be a complete failure then at the very least he’d be able to bring Pierre back an exotic pet. His boy loved feeding and looking after alien animals.

Right, it was time. He headed for the bar without the sign, as agreed. It looked just as horrible on the inside as on the outside. There was no one waiting for him at the agreed table. No worries. This man sounded busy, but Maxime was sure he’d turn up. So he ordered two drinks, which the barman poured from an industrial container—how horrible.

“Thanks for the drink,” someone behind him said. “My name is Quol.”

Maxime turned and studied him. He had beady eyes and large—very large—ears. Not a species he’d ever heard about, but then he’d already spotted a great many aliens on the promenade here who’d probably travelled to this station from the other side of the galaxy.

“Mr. Lessard,” he replied. “So, you have a vitally important story to tell?”

“I do. In the security interest of everyone in the Federation it should be heard. I am just doing my civic duty as a soon to be citizen of the Federation. You have the documents to get me in and the trading license?” Quol asked.

He tried to stop himself from studying the curve of the large ears, tracing their shape with his mind. It was hypnotic in a very disgusting way, he thought.

“No. I have the comm frequencies of people who can arrange that for you. The Federation will be thankful if you really do have good information and if it checks out,” Maxime said darkly.

He hoped the alien didn’t notice the increased perspiration on his brow. Maybe he didn’t know much about humans? What was this information? The man had gone to great lengths to contact him, and it hadn’t been easy for Maxime to arrange this meeting. He’d had to fight himself more than anything else, but the phaser on his belt and the fact they were meeting in a public bar gave him some reassurance. This had better be worth it—although it could hardly be worse than his last interview: some mad man talking about flying alien pancakes that enslaved whole planets mentally. And before that the woman who’d tried to convince him of a coming epidemic of apocalyptic proportions caused by some kind of fluffy space-rats which people had started keeping as pets; ‘Tribble’ she’d called it. Why did people try and take him for a fool? Did they really expect him to believe such nonsense?

“Oh this is quality information that I have to share with you! I think as a journalist who wants to advance his career you will appreciate it.” Quol nodded and lowered his voice. “Very scandalous. It’s a tale of pirates, drugs, Vulcan demons, prostitutes, and the illicit and turbulent affair of one captain and his first officer... .”

“I’m all ear,” Maxime replied tiredly as he wondered what he’d done to deserve such bad luck. Although at least Quol hadn’t mentioned any evil, flying pancakes—yet.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's end note:** _Thank you all for your patience with my erratic updating schedule and I hope you enjoyed reading this story! Sorry for the lack of a beta reader for the last half of the story, but we'd still be here in 2016 otherwise (simply because I wouldn't have had the time to go over the corrections!). I definitely learnt a huge amount while writing this and part of me still can't quite believe I managed to write so many words!_


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